■5|P»t7 


LIBRARY    OF    THE 


University  of  California. 


(•  /  A'  C  UL  A  riSG     B  R  A  NC  // .  __ 

/  9^-^^ 

Eeturn  :a,>«kweebf ;  or  a  week  before  the  end  of  th/term.      . 

i 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


BY 


B.  L.  FARJEON, 


AUTHOR  OF   "GRIF." 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 
1872. 


By  B.  L.  FARJEON. 


LONDON'S  HEART.  Illustrated.  Now  in  course  of  pub- 
lication in  Harpers  Bazar.  (Commenced  in  the  No.  for 
Feb.  24,  1872.)  3  J"^  <5ry 

GRIP:  a  Story  of  Australian  Life.     8vo,  Paper,  40  cents. 

yOSHUA  MARVEL.     8vo,  Paper,  40  cents. 

BLADE-O'^GRASS.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 


Published  by  HARPER  d-  BROTHERS,  New  York. 


Either  of  the  above  luorks  ivill  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United 
States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


I.UIRARY    OF    THK 


"  University  of  California. 


I  A  TING     BRAN 


Eatnrii  in  i#fTr -weelj^i  or  a  wees  '-'cnr,:-  tr.c-  i:na  o:  uie  term. 


i'-:sw«Hi»aew3.L!,WB«  aiiwj«t.iw"nB«" 


.^ 


U  U  O  11  u 


-JLTXilll  V  li^U. 


CHAPTER 


'-^^    0!''    Tfl!']         'v^ 

:U1TI7I3H5ITY 

maTfied  for  love. 


COXCERXIXG    CERTAIN    FAMILY    CONVER- 
SATIONS    AND     THEIR    RESULT. 

In  the  parish  of  Stepney,  in  the  county 
of  Middlesex,  there  lived,  amidst  the  hun- 
"dreds  of  thousands  of  human  bees  who 
throng  that  overcrowded  locality,  a  family 
composed  of  four  persons  —  mother,  father, 
and  two  children,  boy  and  girl  —  who 
owned  the  surprising  name  of  Marvel. 
They  had  lived  in  their  hive  for  goodness 
knows  how  many  years.  The  father's  fa- 
ther had  lived  there  and  died  there  ;  the 
father  had  been  married  ii'om  there  ;  and 
the  children  had  been  born  there.  The 
bees  in  the  locality,  who  elbowed  each 
other  and  trod  upon  each  other's  toes,  were 
poor  and  common  bees,  and  did  not  make 
much  honey.  Some  of  them  made  just 
enough  to  live  upon ;  and  a  good  many  of 
them,  now  and  then,  ran  a  little  short.  The 
consequence  was,  that  they  could  not  store 
any  honey  for  a  rainy  day,  and  were  com- 
pelled to  labor  and  toil  right  through  the 
year,  in  cold  weather  and  in  warm  weather, 
in  sunshine  and  in  rain.  In  which  respect 
they  were  worse,  off  than  other  bees  we 
know  of  that  work  in  the  summer  and  make 
themselves  cosey  in  the  winter. 

The  bees  in  the  neighborhood  being 
common  and  poor,  it  was  natural  that  the 
neighborhood  itself  should  partake  of  the 
character  of  its  inhabitants.  But,  common 
and  poor  as  it  was,  it  was  not  too  common 
nor  too  poor  for  love  to  dwell  in  it.  Love 
did  reside  there  ;  not  only  in  the  hive  of 
the  Marvels,  but  in  hundreds  of  other  hives, 
tenanted  by  the  humblest  of  humble  bees. 

George  Marvel  had  married  for  love ; 
and,  lest  the  reader  should  suppose  that  the 
contract  was  one-sided,  it  may  be  as  well  to 
mention  that  George  Marvel's  wife  had  also 


They  fell  in  love  in  the 
u'Siial  way,  and  they  married  in  the  usual 
way ;  and,  happy  and  satisfied  with  each 
other,  they  did  not  mar  their  enjoyment 
of  the  then  present  by  thinking  of  the 
sharp  stones  which,  from  the  very  circum- 
stances of  their  position,  were  pretty  sure 
to  dot  the  road  of  their  future  lives.  There 
are  many  such  simple  couples  in  the  world 
who  believe  that  the  future  is  carpeted  with 
velvet  grass,  with  the  sun  always  shining 
upon  it,  and  who  find  themselves  all  too 
soon  stumbling  over  a  dark  and  rocky 
thoroughfare. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  Marvels  came 
to  the  end  of  their  little  bit  of  carpet  sun- 
shine ;  yet,  when  they  got  upon  the  sharp 
stones,  they  contrived  by  industry  and 
management  to  keep  their  feet.  George 
Marvel  was  a  wood-turner  by  trade,  and 
earned  on  an  average  about  thirty-two 
shillings  a  week.  What  with  a  little  new 
furniture  now  and  then,  and  a  little  harm- 
less enjoyment  now  and  then,  and  a  few 
articles  of  necessary  clothing  now  and  then, 
and  the  usual  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  teas, 
with  a  little  bit  of  supper  now  and  then,  the 
thirty-two  shillings  a  week  were  pretty  well 
and  pretty  fully  employed.  So  well  and 
so  fully  were  those  weekly  shillings  em- 
ployed, that  it  was  often  a  very  puzzling 
matter  to  solve  that  problem  which  mil- 
lions of  human  atoms  are  studying  at  this 
present  moment,  and  which  consists  in  en- 
deavoring to  make  both  ends  meet.  That 
they  did  contrive,  however,  to  make  both 
ends  meet  (not,  of  course,  without  the  tug- 
ging and  stretching  always  employed  in  the 
process),  was  satisfactorily  demonstrated 
by  the  fact  that  the  fomily  were  respected 
and  esteemed  by  their  neighbors,  and  that 
they  owed  no  man  a  shilling.  Not  even  the 
baker ;  for  they  sent  for  their  loaves,  and 
paid  for  them  across  the  counter.     By  that 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


tliey  almost  always  received  an  extra  piece 
to  make  up  weight  ;  and  such  extra  pieces 
are  of  importance  in  a  family.  Not  even 
the  butcher  ;  for  Mrs.  Marvel  did  her  own 
marketing,  and  found  it  far  cheaper  to  se- 
lect her  own  joints,  which  you  may  be  sure 
never  had  too  much  bone  in  them.  Not 
even  the  cat's-meat  man  ;  for  the  farthing 
a  day  laid  out  with  that  tradesman  was 
faithfully  paid  in  presence  of  the  carroty- 
haired  cat  (who  ever  heard  of  a  cat  with 
auburn  hair '?)  who  sat  the  while  with 
eager  appetite,  looking  with  hungry  eyes 
at  the  skewer  upon  which  hung  her  modi- 
cum of  the  flesh  of  horse. 

Mrs.  Marvel  was  a  pale  but  not  sad  wo- 
man, who  had  no  ambition  in  life  worthy 
of  being  called  one,  save  the  ambition  of 
making  both  ends  meet,  and  of  being  able, 
although  Stepney  was  not  liable  to  floods, 
to  keep  the  heads  of  her  family  above 
water.  But,  because  Mrs.  Marvel  had  no 
ambition,  that  was  no  reason  why  Mr.  Mar- 
vel should  not  have  any.  Not  that  he 
could  have  defined  precisely  what  it  was 
if  he  had  been  asked ;  but  that  the  con- 
stant difficulties  which  cropped  up  in  the 
constant  attempt  to  solve  the  problem 
(which  has  something  perpetual  in  its  na- 
ture) of  making  both  ends  meet,  made  him 
fretful.  This  fretfulness  had  found  vent  in 
speech  day  after  day  for  many  years  ;  so 
that  Joshua  Marvel,  the  wood-turner's  heir, 
had  from  his  infancy  upwards  been  in  the 
habit  of  hearing  what  a  miserable  thing  it 
was  to  be  poor,  and  what  a  miserable  thing 
it  was  to  be  cooped  up,  as  George  Marvel 
expressed  it,  and  what  a  miserable  thing  it 
was  to  live  until  one's  hair  turned  gray 
■without  ever  having  had  a  start  in  the 
•world.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  there- 
fore, that  Joshua  Marvel  had  gathered 
slowly  in  his  mind  the  determination  not 
to  be  a  wood-turner  all  his  life,  but  to  start 
in  the  world  for  himself,  and  try  to  be  some- 
thing better ;  never  for  one  moment  think- 
ing there  was  the  most  remote  possibility 
of  his  ever  being  any  thing  worse.  When, 
in  the  course  of  certain  family  discussions 
and  conversations,  this  determination  be- 
came known,  it  did  not  receive  discourage- 
ment from  the  head  of  the  family,  although 
the  tender-hearted  mother  cried  by  the 
hour  together,  and  could  not  for  the  life  of 
her  see  why  Joshua  should  not  be  satisfied 
to  do  as  his  father  Iftid  done  before  him. 

"And  what  is  that,  mother  V  "  Mr.  ]\larvel 
would  ask.  "  What  have  I  done  before  liim  ? 
I've  been  wood-turning  all  my  life  before 
him  —  that's  what  I've  been  doing  ;  and  I 
shall  go  on  wood-turning,  I  suppose,  till  my 
dying  day,  Avhen  I  can't  wood-turn  any 
more.     Why,  it  might  be  yesterday  that  I 


first  day  I  used  the  lathe  I  dreamed  that  I 
had  cut  my  thumb  off;  and  I  woke  up  with 
a  curious  sensation  in  my  jaw  which  has 
haunted  me  ever  since  like  a  ghost.  That 
was  before  I  knew  you,  mother.  And  now 
it  is  to-day,  and  I'm  wood-turning  still ; 
and  —  How  many  white  hairs  did  you 
pull  out  of  my  head  last  night,  Sarah  ?" 

"  Fourteen,"  replied  Sarah  ;  "  and  you 
owe  me  a  farthing." 

"  Fourteen,"  said  Mr.  Marvel,  quietly  re- 
pudiating the  liability,  which  arose  from  an 
existing  aiTangement  that  Sarah  should 
have  a  farthing  for  every  dozen  white  hairs 
she  pulled  out  of  his  head  ;  "  and  next  week 
it  will  be  forty,  perhaps ;  and  the  week 
after  four  hundred." 

"  White  hairs  will  come,  father,"  said  Mrs. 
Marvel ;  "  we  must  all  get  'em  when  we're 
old  enough." 

"  I'm  not  old  enough,"  grumbled  Mr. 
Marvel. 

"  And  I  don't  see,  father,"  continued  Mrs. 
Marvel,  "  what  the  fourteen  white  hairs 
Sarah  pulled  out  of  your  head  has  to  do 
with  Joshua." 

"  Of  course  you  don't  see,  mother,"  said  ^ 
Mr.  Marvel,  who  had  a  contempt  for  a  wo- 
man's argument ;  "  you're  not  supposed  to 
see,  being  a  woman ;  but  I  do  see ;  and 
what  I  say  is,  wood-turning  brings  on  white 
hairs  quicker  than  any  thing  else." 

"Grandfather  was  a  wood-turner,"  remark- 
ed Mrs.  Marvel,  "  and  he  didn't  have  white 
hairs  tmtil  he  was  quite  old." 

"  Well,  he  was  lucky  —  that's  all  I  can 
say  ;  but,  for  all  that,  Josh  isn't  going  to 
be  a  wood-turner,  unless  he's  set  his  mind 
upon  it." 

"  I  won't  be  a  wood-turner,  father,"  said 
Joshua. 

"  All  right,  Josh,"  said  Mr.  Marvel ;  "  you 
sha'n't." 

From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  the  voice 
maternal  was  weak  and  impotent  when  op- 
posed to  the  voice  paternal.  But  Mrs. 
Marvel,  although  by  no  means  a  strong- 
minded  woman,  had  a  will  of  her  own,  and 
a  quiet  unobtrusive  way  of  working  which 
often  achieved  a  victory  without  inflicting 
humiliation.  She  did  not  like  the  idea  of 
her  boy  leading  an  idle  life  ;  she  had  an 
intuitive  conviction  that  Joshua  would  come 
to  no  good  if  he  had  nothing  to  do.  She 
argued  the  matter  with  her  good  man,  and 
never  introduced  the  subject  at  an  im- 
proper time.  The  consequence  was,  that 
her  first  moves  were  crowned  with  success. 

"  If  Joshua  won't  be  a  wood-turner,  far 
ther  " — she  said. 

"  Which  he  won't,"  asserted  her  husband. 

"  Which  he  won't,  as  you  say,"  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel replied,  like  a  sensible  woman.     "  If  he 


started  as  a  boy  to  learn  wood-turning.  The  I  won't  be  a  wood-turner,  he  must  be  som6« 


FAMILY   CONVERSATIONS, 


thing.     Now  he  must  be  something,  fathei' 

—  mustn't  he  ?  " 

This  being  spoken  in  the  form  of  a  ques- 
tion, left  the  decision  with  Mr.  Marvel ;  and 
he  said,  as  if  the  remark  originated  with 
himself,  — 

"  Yes  ;  he  must  be  something." 

And  with  that  admission  Mrs.  Marvel 
rested  content  for  a  little  while  ;  but  not  for 
long.  She  soon  returned  to  the  attack  ; 
and  asked  her  husband  what  Joshua  should 
be.  Now  this  puzzled  Mr.  Marvel  ;  and  he 
could  not  see  any  way  out  of  the  difficulty, 
except  by  remarking  that  the  boy  would 
make  up  his  mind  one  of  these  fine  days. 
But  "these  fine  days  "  —  in  which  people, 
especially  boys,  make  up  their  minds  —  are 
remarkably  like  angels'  visits  ;  and  the  cal- 
endar of  our  lives  often  comes  to  an  end 
without  one  of  them  being  marked  upon  the 
record.  To  all  outward  appearance,  this 
was  likely  to  be  the  case  with  Joshua ;  and 
the  task  of  making  up  his  mind  seemed  to 
be  so  tardy  in  its  accomplishment,  that 
George  Marvel  himself  began  to  grow  per- 
plexed as  to  the  future  groove  of  his  son  and 
heir  ;  for  Joshua  kept  himself  mentally 
very  much  to  himself  Vague  wishes  and 
desires  he  had  ;  but  they  had  not  yet  shaped 
themselves  in  his  mind — which  was  most 
likely  the  reason  why  they  had  not  found 
expression. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Marvel  was  not  idle. 
She  saw  her  husband's  perplexity,  and  re- 
joiced at  it.  Her  great  desire  was  to  see 
Joshua  settled  down  to  a  trade,  whether  it 
were  wood-turning  or  any  other.  Wood- 
turning  she  would  have  preferred  ;  but,  fail- 
ing that,  some  other  trade  which  would  fix 
him  at  home ;  for  with  that  keen  perception 
which  mothers  only  possess  with  regard  to 
their  children  —  a  perception  which  springs 
from  the  maternal  intellect  alone,  and  which 
is  born  of  a  mother's  watchful  anxious  love 

—  she  felt  that  her  son's  desires,  unknown 
even  to  himself,  might  possibly  lead  him  to 
be  a  wanderer  from  her  world,  the  parish  of 
Stepney,  in  which  she  was  content  to  live 
and  die.  In  that  beehive  she  had  been 
born ;  in  that  beehive  she  had  experi- 
enced calm  happiness  and  wholesome  trou- 
ble ;  and  in  that  beehive  she  wished  to  close 
her  eyes  ;  and  to  see  her  children's  faces 
smiling  upon  her,  when  her  time  came  to 
say  good-by  to  the  world  of  which  she 
knew  so  little.  With  all  a  woman's  cun- 
ning, with  all  a  woman's  love,  she  devoted 
herself  to  the  task  of  weaning  the  mind  of 
her  favorite  child  from  the  restless  aspi- 
rations which  might  drive  him  from  her 
side. 

"  Until  Joshua  makes  up  his  mind  what 
he  is  going  to  be,  father,"  she  said  one 
night  at  candle-time,  "  it's  a  pity  he  should 


remain  idle.     Idleness  isn't  a  good  thing  for 
a  boy." 

"  Idleness  isn't  a  good  thing  for  boy  or 
man,"  said  Mr.  Marvel,  converting  his  wife's 
remark  into  an  original  expression  of  opin- 
ion by  the  addition  of  the  last  two  words. 
"  But  I  don't  see  what  we  are  to  do, 
mother." 

"  Suppose  I  get  him  a  situation  —  as  an 
errand-boy,  perhaps  —  until  he  makes  up 
his  mind." 

"  I'm  agreeable,"  said  Mr.  Marvel,  "  if 
Josh  is." 

But  Josh  was  not  agreeable.  Many  a 
fruitless  journey  did  Mrs.  Marvel  make, 
trudging  here  and  trudging  there  ;  and 
many  an  application  did  she  answer  in  per- 
son to  written  announcements  in  shop-win- 
dows of  "  Errand-boy  wanted."  Joshua 
would  not  accept  any  of  the  situations  she 
obtained  for  him.  She  got  him  one  at  a 
watchmaker's ;  no,  he  would  not  go  to  a 
watchmaker's  :  at  a  saddler's ;  no,  he  would 
not  go  to  a  saddler's  :  at  a  bootmaker's,  at 
a  tailor's  ;  no,  nor  that,  nor  that.  Still  she 
persevered,  appearing  to  gain  fresh  courage 
from  every  rebuff.  As  for  Joshua,  he  was 
beginning  to  grow  wearied  of  her  assiduity. 
He  was  resolved  not  to  go  to  any  trade,  but 
being  of  a  very  affectionate  nature  he  de-  / 
sired  to  please  his  mother,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  convince  her  that  it  was  of  no  use 
for  her  to  worry  him  any  longer.  So  he  set 
her,  what  he  considered  to  be  an  impossible 
task ;  he  told  her  that  he  was  determined 
not  to  go  anywhere  except  to  a  printing- 
office.  He  felt  assured  that  she  would 
never  be  able  to  get  him  within  the  sacred 
precincts  of  such  an  establishment.  And 
even  if  she  did,  there  was  something  more 
noble,  something  more  distinguished  and 
grander,  in  printing  than  in  bootraaking, 
or  tailoring,  or  watchmaking,  or  wood-turn- 
ing. There  was  a  fascinating  mystery  about 
it ;  he  had  seen  watchmakers,  and  tailora, 
and  cobblers  working,  but  he  had  never 
seen  the  inside  of  a  printing-office.  Neither 
had  any  of  his  boy-friends.  He  had  been 
told,  too,  that  there  was  an  act  of  parlia- 
ment which  allowed  printers  to  wear  swords 
in  the  streets.  That  was  a  fine  thing.  How 
all  the  neighbors  would  stare  when  they 
saw  him  walking  through  the  narrow  streets 
of  Stepney  with  a  sword  at  his  side  !  Joshua 
had  some  sense  of  humor ;  and  he  chuckled 
to  himself  at  the  impossible  task  he  had  set 
his  mother. 

He  was  therefore  considerably  astonished 
one  day,  when  Mrs.  Marvel  told  him  she 
had  obtained  a  situation  for  him  as  errand- 
boy  in  a  newspaper-office.  Did  ever  a  wo- 
man fail,  except  from  physical  or  mental 
prostration,  in  the  accomplishment  of  a  cer- 
tain thing  upon  which  she  has  set  her  mind  ? 


8 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


And  if,  in  working  for  the  accomplishment 
of  the  desired  result,  she  brings  to  her  aid 
an  unselfish,  unwearying  love,  then  did 
ever  a  woman  fail  ?  At  all  events  Mrs. 
Marvel  did  not.  After  much  labor,  fortune 
befriended  her ;  and  she  heard  that  an 
errand-boy  was  wanted  at  a  certain  print- 
ing-office where  a  weekly  newspaper  was 
printed.  Thither  she  hurried,  and  soon 
found  herself  in  a  small  dark  office,  in  which 
the  master  sat. 

He  treated  her  in  the  most  off-hand  man- 
ner. Yes,  he  wanted  an  errand-boy.  Was 
he  sharp,  intelligent,  willing  ?  Oh,  her  son  ! 
Very  well.  Let  him  come  to-morrow. 
Wages,  four  shillings  a  week.  Time,  from 
eight  to  eight.  An  hour  to  dinner,  half  an 
hour  to  tea.     Good-morning. 

Thus  the  matter  was  settled,  and  Joshua 
engaged.  Mrs.  Marvel  went  home  rejoi- 
cing. 

With  fear  and  trembling,  a  little  pleased 
and  a  good  deal  dismayed,  Joshua  made  his 
way  the  next  morning  to  the  printing-office. 
Groping  along  adark  passage  he  came  to 
a  door  on  which  the  word  "  Office  "  was 
dimly  discernible.  The  freshness  of  youth- 
ful paint  had  departed  from  the  word  ;  the 
letters  were  faded,  and  they  appeared  to 
be  waiting  to  be  quite  rubbed  out  with  a 
kind  of  jaded  resignation.  In  response  to 
the  sharply-uttered  "  Come  in  1  "  Joshua 
opened  the  door,  and  entered  the  room. 
The  person  he  saw  before  him  had  such  a 
dissipated  appearance,  that  any  stranger 
would  have  been  warranted  in  coming  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  had  not  been  in  bed  for 
a  fortnight.  The  room  was  full  of  papers, 
very  dusty  and  very  dirty  ;  and  looked  as  if, 
from  the  day  it  was  built,  it  had  not  found 
time  to  wash  itself.  Scarcely  raising  his 
eyes  from  a  long  slip  of  paper,  upon  which 
he  was  making  a  number  of  complicated 
marks,  the  occupant  of  the  room  said, — 

"  It's  of  no  use  bothering  me.  I  sha'n't 
have  any  copy  ready  tor  half  an  hour. 
Hallo  1    Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  The  new  errand-boy,  sir,"  said  Joshua, 
humbly. 

"  Oh,  very  well  I  Take  this  proof  up  stairs 
and  sweep  the  composing-room ;  then  come 
down  and  clean  the  street-door  plate.  Cut 
along  !     Look  sharp  1  " 

Looking  as  sharp  as  he  could,  Joshua 
walked  up  stairs,  and  found  himself  in  the 
composing-room  of  the  establishment.  A 
number  of  men  and  boys,  decorated  with 
aprons  with  large  bibs,  were  playing  a  mys- 
terious game  with  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  small  pieces  of  lead,  which  they  clicked 
with  marvellous  rapidity,  but  without  any 
apparent  meaning,  against  an  instrument 
they  held  in  their  hands.  He  looked  in 
vaia  for  the  swords  which  he  had  heard 


printers  were  allowed  to  wear,  and  he  was 
covered  with  confusion  at  finding  himself  in 
the  midst  of  so  large  an  assemblage,  who 
one  and  all  appeared  as  if  they  were  playing 
on  a  number  of  pianos  without  any  tune  in 
them.  Going  up  to  a  youth  whose  head, 
covered  with  a  profusion  of  red  hair,  looked 
as  if  it  were  in  a  blaze,  Joshua  asked  to 
whom  he  should  give  the  proof.  "  To 
Snooks,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  For  which 
piece  of  information  he  received  a  slap  on 
the  side  of  his  head  from  some  person  in 
authority  ;  who,  taking  the  proof  from 
Joshua,  directed  him  to  sweep  up  the  room. 
While  performing  this  task  he  surveyed  the 
scene  before  him.  There  were  sixteen  men 
and  four  boys  at  work.  All  the  men  had  the 
same  dissipated  look  that  he  had  observed 
upon  the  countenance  of  the  master.  Their 
faces,  otherwise,  were  very  clean  :  but  the 
tips  of  the  right-hand  fore-finger  and  thumb 
of  each  were  black  with  dirt,  caused  by  the 
types  which  they  pi(;ked  up  with  those  ex- 
tremities from  the  boxes  before  them.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken,  except  what  appeared 
to  have  reference  to  the  business,  and  the 
conversation  proceeded  somewhat  in  this 
wise.  One  of  the  workmen,  walking  to  a 
slab  of  iron  placed  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  took  therefrom  a  sheet  of  manuscript, 
and  looking  at  it  negligently,  shouted,  — 

"  Number  three  I  " 

Another  voice  at  the  end  of  the  room 
cried  out,  — 

"  Awful  Collision  !  " 

Joshua  stopped  in  the  midst  of  his  sweep- 
ing, and  waited  for  the  shock.  But  as  none 
came,  he  proceeded  with  his  work,  and 
thought  that  the  second  speaker  was  crazy. 
In  the  mean  time  the  dialogue  continued. 

Speaker  number  one  :  "  End  a  break." 

Speaker  number  two  :  "  All  right,"  with 
a  growl. 

Speaker  number  one  :  "  What  type  ?  " 

Speaker  number  two,  with  another  growl: 
"  Llinion." 

At  the  word  "  minion, "  which  Joshua 
considered  was  a  term  expressive  of  any 
thing  but  respect,  he  expected  speaker 
number  one  would  walk  up  to  speaker  num- 
ber two,  and  punch  his  head.  Instead  of 
which  the  insulted  individual  went  into  his 
corner  again,  and  re-commenced  playing 
his  tuneless  piano  in  the  meekest  possible 
manner.  The  overseer  then  going  to  a 
part  of  the  room  where  long  rows  of  type 
were  placed  in  detached  pieces,  asked,  — 

"  How  long  will  this  Dreadful  Suicide  be 
before  it's  finished?" 

'•  Done  in  five  minutes,  sir,"  was  the  re- 
ply, in  a  cheerful  voice. 

"  Who's  on  the  Inquest  ?  "  asked  the  over- 
seer. 

"  I  am,  sir." 


paper  was 
hour  was 
and  as  the 


"  Be  quick  and  get  it  finished  ;  you've 
been  long  enou'^h  over  it.  Now,  then, 
how  long  is  this  Chancery  Court  to  remain 
open  ?  " 

"  Close  it  up  in  two  minutes,  sir." 

And  Joshua  gazed  with  a  kind  of  won- 
der at  the  individual  who  spoke,  as  if  it 
were  as  easy  to  close  the  Court  of  Chan- 
cery as  to  close  his  hand. 

It  was  the  day  on  which  the 
sent  to  press ;  the  publishing 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  ; 
work  was  behindhand,  everybody  was  very 
bus}'.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a 
large  iron  slab,  and  at  one  time  the  ham- 
mering and  beating  on  this  slab  were  ter- 
rific. Two .  or  three  excited  individuals, 
with  mallets  and  iron  sticks  in  their  hands, 
advanced  towards  the  type,  which  was  laid 
upon  the  slab,  with  the  apparent  intention 
of  smashing  it  to  pieces.  They  commenced 
to  do  this  with  such  extraordinary  earnest- 
ness, that  Joshua  was  on  the  point  of  rush- 
ing down  stairs  to  the  master  to  inform  him 
that  his  property  was  being  wantonly  de- 
stroyed ;  but  as  the  other  workmen  ap- 
peared to  regard  the  proceeding  as  quite  a 
matter  of  course,  Joshua  checked  himself 
and  thought  it  would  perhaps  be  as  well  for 
him  to  say  nothing  about  it.  The  overseer 
also  continued  to  issue  his  strange  orders ; 
and  during  a  slight  cessation  in  the  hammer- 
ing, he  peremptorily  ordered  the  workman  to 
"lock  up  that  Escaped  Lunatic, and  be  quick 
about  it."  At  another  time  he  gave  direc- 
tions to  lay  the  Female  in  Disguise  on  the 
stone  (meaning  the  iron  slab),  to  unlock 
the  Old  Bailey,  and  to  correct  the  Chancel- 
lor's Budget.  Joshua  grew  perfectly  bewil- 
dered. The  information  that  there  was  an 
Escaped  Lunatic  in  the  room  did  not  so 
much  astonish  as  alarm  him  ;  but  as  to  the 
Female  in  Disguise  he  could  not  identify 
her,  and  he  waited  in  amazement  to  see 
what  disguise  she  wore  and  where  she 
would  be  brought  from ;  at  the  same  time 
entertaining  the  idea  that  to  lay  any  female 
upon  a  stone  was  a  decidedly  improper  pro- 
ceeding. While  in  this  state  of  mental  per- 
plexit}',  the  overseer  cried  out, — 

"  Now,  then,  who  has  the  Female  in  Dis- 
guise in  hand  ?  " 

"  I  have,  sir,"  a  voice  replied. 

"  Bring  it  here,  then,"  ordered  the  over- 
seer, "and  finish  the  corrections  on  the 
stone." 

"  All  right,  sir." 

Joshua  started  and  looked  round  to  catch 
a  sight  of  the  female  ;  in  his  agitation  he 
stumbled  against  a  workman  who  held  a 
column  of  type  in  his  arms.  The  type  fell 
to  the  ground,  and  was  smashed  into  thou- 
sands of  pieces.  In  an  instant  the  whole 
office  was  in  confusion. 


FAMILY   CONVERSATIONSkV  '  ^    "  9 

You've  done*H<KrKie  time,  youngster," 
the  workman  saitl  in  dismay,  looking  at  the 
scattered  type  on  the  floor. 

Joshua  did  not  exactly  know  what  it 
was  he  had  doac,  but  felt  that  it  must  be 
something  very  bad.  He  soon  received 
practical  proof  of  the  extent  of  the  mis- 
chief, for  the  master,  rushing  into  the  room, 
kicked  him  down  stairs,  and  told  him  to  go 
about  his  business.  Which  Joshua  did  in 
a  state  of  much  bewilderment. 

Thus  all  the  good  intentions  of  Mrs. 
Marvel  were  frustrated.  Joshua  declared 
he  would  not  take  another  situation,  and 
his  father  sided  with  him  and  encouraged 
him.  It  must  be  confessed  that  Mr.  IMar- 
vel  continued  to  have  his  perplexities  about 
Joshua's  career,  but  to  have  openly  admit- 
ted them  would  have  been  handing  the  vic- 
tory to  his  wife.  So  he  kept  them  to  him- 
self, and  thus  maintained  his  supremacy  as 
master  of  the  house.  Many  of  his  neigh- 
bors were  henpecked,  and  he  used  to  laugh 
at  them.  It  would  not  have  done  to  have 
given  them  the  chance  to  laugh  at  him. 
Therefore,  as  time  progressed,  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel's protests  were  less  and  less  frequently 
made,  and  Joshua's  determination  not  to  be 
a  wood-turner  gathering  strength  month 
after  month,  it  soon  came  to  be  recognized 
as  quite  a  settled  thing  that  he  was  to 
start  in  life  for  himself,  and  was  not  to  do 
as  his  father  had  done  before  him.  Pend- 
ing his  decision,  Joshua  continued  to  lead 
an  idle  life.  But  he  was  by  no  means  vi- 
ciously inclined ;  and  much  of  his  time  was 
spent  in  the  cultivation  of  two  innocent 
amusements,  both  of  which  served  him  in 
good  stead  in  the  singular  future  which  was 
in  store  for  him.  One  of  these  amusements 
Avas  a  passion  for  music.  He  knew  nothing 
of  musical  notation,  and  played  entirely  by 
ear  ;  yet  he  managed  to  extract  sweet  mel- 
ody fi'om  a  second-hand  accordion,  of  which, 
after  long  and  patient  saving  of  half  pence 
and  pence,  he  had  become  the  happy  pur- 
chaser. The  other  of  his  tastes  grew  out 
of  a  boyish  love.  How  he  acquired  it  will 
be  recouuted  in  the  following  chapters. 


CHAPTER  n. 

SHOAVIXG  HOW  A  PASSION  FOR  PUNCH 
AND  JCDY  MAY  LEAD  TO  DISASTROUS 
CONSEQUENCES. 

There  are  few  boys  in  the  world  who  are 
without  their  boy-friends  whom  they  wor- 
ship, or  by  whom  they  are  worshipped, 
with  a  love  far  surpassing  in  its  uuselfisL- 


10 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


ness  the  love  of  maturer  years.  The  mem- 
ory of  times  that  are  gone  is  too  often 
blurred  by  waves  of  sorrowful  circumstance. 
Our  lives  are  like  old  pictures ;  the  canvas 
grows  wrinkled,  and  the  accumulated  dust 
of  years  lies  heavy  upon  figures  that  once 
were  bright  and  fair.  But  neither  dust 
nor  wrinkles  can  obliterate  the  memory  of 
the  love  we  bore  to  the  boy-friend  with 
whom  we  used  to  wander  in  fields  that 
were  greener,  beneath  skies  that  were  bluer, 
than  fields  and  skies  are  now. 

Cannot  you  and  I  remember  the  time 
when  we  used  to  stroll  into  the  country 
■with  our  boy-friend,  and,  with  arms  thrown 
lovingly  around  each  other's  neck,  indulge 
in  day-dreams  not  the  less  sweet  because 
they  were  never  to  be  realized  ?  And  how, 
when  we  had  built  our  castles,  and  were 
looking  at  them  in  the  clouds,  with  our 
hearts  filled  with  joyful  fancies,  we  wan- 
dered in  silence  down  the  shady  lane, 
sweet  with  the  scent  of  the  flowering  May 
that  shut  us  out  from  view  on  either  side  ; 
and  across  the  field  with  its  luxuriant  grass 
up  to  our  ankles  with  everywhere  the  daisy 
peeping  out  to  watch  us  as  we  passed ; 
and  over  the  heath  where  the  golden  gorse 
was  blushing  with  joy;  and  down  the 
narrow  path  to  the  well  which  shrunk  from 
public  observation  at  the  bottom  of  a  flight 
of  cool  stone  steps,  hewn  out  by  the  monks 
of  a  cloister  which  should  have  been  hai*d 
by,  but  wasn't,  having  been  destroyed  in  a 
bloody  battle  which  took  place  once  upon 
a  time  ? 

Not  many  such  experiences  as  these  did 
Joshua  and  his  boy-friend  enjoy ;  for  our 
Damon's  Pythias,  whose  proper  name  was 
f  Daniel  Taylor,  was  lame,  with  both  his  legs 
so  badly  broken  that,  had  he  lived  unto 
the  ago  of  Methuselah  and  been  fed  upon 
the  fat  of  the  land,  those  props  of  his  body 
would  have  been  as  useless  to  him  all 
through  his  long  life  as  if  they  had  been 
blades  of  the  tenderest  grass. 

The  Taylors  had  three  children  :  Susan, 
Ellen,  and  Daniel.  Ellen  and  Daniel  were 
twins,  and  when  they  were  born  Susan  was 
ten  years  old.  The  worldly  circumstances 
of  the  Taj'lors  were  no  better  than  those  of 
their  neighbors  ;  indeed,  if  any  thing,  they 
were  a  httle  worse  than  those  of  many 
around  them.  The  parents,  therefore, 
could  not  aiFord  to  keep  a  nurse-girl,  and  it 
was  fortunate  for  them  that  they  had  pro- 
vided one  in  the  person  of  their  elder 
daughter,  and  had  allowed  her  to  grow  to 
a  suitable  age  before  they  ventured  to  bring 
other  children  into  the  world.  Fortunate 
as  it  was  ibr  the  parents,  it  was  most  un- 
fortunate for  Daniel ;  for  before  he  and  his 
other  half  were  born,  Susan  Taylor  had 
contracted  a  passion  almost  insane  in  its 


intensity,  to  which  her  only  brother  was 
doomed  to  be  a  victim.  That  passion  was 
a  love  for  the  British  drama,  as  represented 
in  Punch  and  Judy.  All  Susan's  ambitions 
and  yearnings  were  centred  in  the  show ; 
and  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  she 
would  allow  so  small  a  matter  as  twins  to 
interfere  with  her  absorbing  passion.  How 
the  liking  for  Punch  and  Judy  had  grown 
with  her  years  and  strengthened  with  her 
strength,  it  is  not  necessary  here  to  trace. 
The  fact  remains,  and  is  sufficient  for  the 
tragedy  of  poor  Daniel's  life.  Squeezed  to 
their  sister's  breast,  Daniel  and  Ellen  were 
condemned  to  take  long  journeys  afler 
Punch  and  Judy,  and  to  be  nursed  at  street- 
corners  by  a  girl  who  had  eyes  and  mind 
for  nothing  but  the  dramatis  personce  of 
that  time-honored  play.  In  her  scrambles 
after  the  show  she  oflen  wandered  a  long 
way  from  home,  and  tore  her  dress,  and 
jammed  her  bonnet,  and  mudded  her 
stockings,  and  knocked  her  boots  out  at 
the  toes,  and  got  herself  generally  into  a 
disreputable  condition.  But  in  presence  of 
the  glories  of  Punch  and  Judy,  which  were 
to  her  ever  fresh  and  ever  bright,  such  dis- 
comforts sank  into  absolute  insignificance. 
All  paltry  considerations  were  forgotten  in 
the  absorbing  interest  with  which  she 
watched  the  extraordinary  career  of  the 
hero  of  the  drama.  She  was  insensible  to 
the  cuffs  and  remarks  of  the  acting-mana- 
ger who  went  round  for  contributions, 
which  the  on-lookers  were  solicited  to  drop 
into  a  tin  plate  or  a  greasy  cap.  He  natu- 
rally resented  Susan's  presence  at  the  exhi- 
bition, for  she  had  never  been  known  to 
contribute  the  smallest  piece  of  copper 
towards  the  expenses.  But  neither  his 
cuffs  nor  his  resentful  language  had  any 
effect  upon  Susan,  who,  in  her  utter  disre- 
gai'd  of  all  adverse  circumstances,  proved 
herself  to  be  an  ardent  and  conscientious 
admirer  of  the  British  drama.  As  a  conse- 
quence of  her  peregrinations,  she  often 
found  herself  in  strange  neighborhoods,  and 
did  not  know  her  way  home.  The  anxiety 
she  caused  her  mother,  who  was  naturally 
proud  of  her  twins,  almost  maddened  that 
poor  woman.  She  used  to  run  about  the 
neighborhood  of  Stepney,  wringing  her 
hands  and  declaring  that  her  twins  were 
kidnapped.  At  first  the  neighbors  were  in 
the  habit  of  sympathizing  with  her,  and  of 
making  anxious  inquii-ies  of  one  another 
concerning' the  children;  but  when,  after 
some  months  of  such  uneventful  excitement, 
they  found  that  Susan  and  her  twins  were 
always  brought  home  in  good  condition  as 
regarded  their  limbs  —  although  in  a  very 
disgraceful  condition  as  regarded  their  per- 
sonal appearance :  but  dirt  counted  for  noth- 
ing in  such  a  case  of  excited  expectation  — 


PUNCH  AND  JUDY, 


11 


tlieir  ardor  cooled,  and  they  withheld  their 
sympathy  from  the  distressed  mother.  In- 
deed, they  looked  upon  themselves  in  tin; 
liijht  of  injured  individuals,  because  some- 
thing really  calamitous  had  not  happened 
to  the  children.  At  length  Susan  became 
such  a  nuisance  —  not  only  at  home,  but 
at  many  police-stations,  where  she  was 
popularly  known  as  "  that  dirty  girl  again, 
with  the  twins" — that  the  mother  was 
recommended  to  lock  her  up.  Despairing 
of  being  able  to  cure  her  daughter  of 
her  Punch-and-Judy  mania  by  any  other 
means,  the  mother  locked  her  up  with 
her  infant  charges  in  a  room  on  the  first 
floor. 

That  was  a  sad  thing  for  poor  Daniel. 
Susan  very  naturally  sulked  at  being 
locked  up,  and  at  being  deprived  of  her 
favorite  amusement.  Life  had  no  joy  for 
her  without  Punch  and  Judy.  _  With 
Punch  and  Judy,  existence  was  blissful  ; 
without  Punch  and  Judy,  existence  was  a 
blank.  Regarding  the  twins  as  the  cause 
of  her  imprisonment,  she  vented  her  spleen 
upon  the  unfortunate  couple,  and  was 
spiteful  enough  to  leave  traces  of  yellow 
soap  in  their  eyes  when  she  washed  them ; 
and  when  they  cried  because  of  the  smart, 
and  rubbed  their  eyelids  with  their  little 
fists  to  get  rid  of  the  unwelcome  particles, 
she  smacked  them  on  the  tenderest  parts 
of  their  persons,  and  made  them  cry  the 
more.  *  But  they  were  not  destined  to  en- 
dure this  kind  of  torture  for  more  than  a 
couple  of  days. 

On  the  third  day  of  their  imprisonment, 
Susan  was  sitting  moodily  on  the  floor, 
sulking  as  usual,  and  biting  her  lips  and 
fretting,  when  suddenly  the  well-beloved 
"  too-to-too-a-too  "  of  the  Punch-and-Judy 
showman  came  floating  through  the  win- 
dow. Wild  with  delight,  she  snatched  up 
the  twins,  and,  rushing  to  the  window, 
bent  her  body  forward,  and  looked  out. 
Yes ;  there  it  was  —  there  was  the  show  ! 
Preparations  were  being  made  for  the 
drama;  the  green  curtain  Avas  down,  the 
crowd  was  collecting,  and  the  acting  man- 
ager was  already  taking  a  critical  survey 
of  the  persons  who  loitered,  and  was  men- 
tallv  marking  down  those  who  would  not 
be  allowed  to  stroll  or  slink  away  without 
being  solicited  for  a  fee.  The  front  of 
the  stage  was  not  turned  towards  the  win- 
dow out  of  which  Susan  was  looking  ;  and 
she  could  only  see  part  of  the  show.  That 
was  a  terrible  disappointment  to  her ;  and 
her  suffering  was  really  very  great  when 
she  found  that  the  gallows  upon  which 
Punch  was  to  be  hanged  was  erected  just 
in  that  corner  of  the  stage  of  which  she 
could  not  obtain  a  glimpse.  She  stamped 
her  foot  upon  the  floor  excitedly ;    and, 


bending  her  body  still  more  forward  in  lier 
eagerness,  poor  Daniel  slipped  out  of  her 
arms  on  to  the  pavement.  For  a  uKjment 
Susan  was  so  bewildered  that  she  could 
not  realize  what  had  occurred  :  but,  when 
she  heard  the  sharp  cry  of  agony  to  which 
Daniel  gave  utterance,  and  when  she  saw 
the  crowd  of  people  rushing  with  frightened 
faces  towards  the  spot  where  the  little  fel- 
low was  lying,  she  ran  into  a  corner  of  the 
room  with  the  other  child  in  her  arms,  and 
throwing  her  frock  over  her  head,  cowered 
down  with  her  face  to  the  wall,  :uid  began 
to  cry.  But  little  notice  was  taken  of  her. 
Daniel  was  picked  up  and  carried  into  the 
house.  He  was  not  killed  ;  but  his  two 
le<Ts  were  badly  broken,  and  were  destined 
never  to  be  of  any  use  to  him.  So,  as  he 
had  to  depend  upon  artificial  legs  tor  sup- 
port, Daniel  began  to  learn  the  use  of 
crutches  almost  before  he  had  begun  to 
learn  to  toddle. 

The  love  that  existed  between  Joshua 
and  Daniel  sprang  out  of  an  iiuiocent  flir- 
tation which  was  indulged  in  by  Joshua 
Marvel  and  Ellen  Taylor.  The  amatory 
youngsters  exchanged  vows  when  they 
were  quite  little  things,  and  pledged  them- 
selves not  to  marry  any  one  else  :  "  no,  not 
for  the  wide,  wide  world  1 "  Innocent 
kisses,  broken  pieces  of  crockery  with 
which  they  played  at  dinners  and  shops 
on  back-window  sills,  and  the  building  of 
grottoes  when  the  oyster-season  came 
round,  were  the  material  bonds  which 
united  the  vouthfiil  loves  of  Joshua  and 
Ellen. 

In  due  time  Joshua  was  introduced  to 
the  family;  not  exactly  as  the  accepted 
suitor  of  the  little  damsel,  but  in  a  surrep- 
titious sneaking  manner,  which  older  suit- 
ors would  have  considered  undignified. 
Such  a  mean  position  did  he  for  some- 
time occupy  in  the  house  of  his  affianced, 
that  on  several  occasions  when  Mr.  Taylor 
came  home  drunk,  Joshua  was  locked  up 
in  the  coal-cellar,  lest  he  should  meet  the 
eye  of  the  tipsy  parent,  who,  when  he  was 
in  his  cups,  did  not  possess  the  most  amia- 
ble disposition  in  the  world.  From  that 
coal-cellar  Joshua  would  emerge  low- 
spirited  and  grimy,  and  in  a  despondent 
mood  ;  but  sundry  marks  of  affection  from 
Ellen,  the  effects  of  which  were  afterwards 
visible  in  black  patches  on  her  nose  and 
cheeks  and  cherry  lips,  invariably  restored 
him  to  cheerfulness.  Such  a  courtship 
was  not  dignified ;  but  Joshua  and  Ellen 
were  perfectly  satisfied  ;  and  so  was  Dan, 
who  thoroughly  approved  of  his  twin-sis- 
ter's choice  of  a  sweetheart. 

As  the  children  grew  in  years,  the  ties 
that  united  Ellen  and  Joshua  were  weak- 
ened ;   while  those   that   united  the   boys 


12 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


were  strengthened,  until  a  very  perfect 
and  unselfish  love  was  established  between 
thorn.  Both  the  lads  were  in  the  same 
condition  as  regarded  their  time.  Joshua 
had  his  on  his  hands  because  he  had  not 
made  up  his  mind  what  he  was  going  to 
be ;  and  Daniel  had  his  on  his  hands  be- 
cause he  had  broken  his  legs.  Each  had 
his  particular  fancy.  Joshua's  was  music  ; 
Dan's  was  birds. 

Condemned  to  a  sedentary  life  from  the 
nature  of  his  affliction,  and  notable  to  run 
about  as  other  boys  did  —  for  when  his  sis- 
ter had  let  him  fall  ti'om  her  arms  out  of 
the  window  the  breaking  of  his  legs  was 
not  the  only  injury  he  had  received  —  Dan 
turned  his  attention  to  a  couple  of 
canaries  which  were  part  of  his  parents' 
household  gods.  In  course  of  time  the 
birds  grew  to  be  very  fond  of  him  ;  and  he 
trained  them  to  do  such  pretty  tricks,  and 
was  himself  of  so  gentle  and  amiable  a 
disposition,  that  good-natured  neighbors 
made  him  occasional  presents  of  birds  — 
such  as  a  linnet,  or  a  lark,  or  a  pair  of 
bullfinches  —  until  he  had  gathered  around 
him  a  small  collection  of  feathered  young- 
lings. With  these  companions  his  life  was 
as  happy  as  life  could  be.  He  did  not 
mope  or  fret  because  his  legs  were  useless, 
and  because  he  was  compelled  to  use 
crutches ;  on  the  contrary,  he  absolutely 
loved  his  wooden  props,  as  if  they  were 
bone  of  his  bone  and  flesh  of  his  flesh. 

"  You  are  right  not  to  be  a  wood-turner 
Jo,"  said  Dan,  when  his  friend  related  to 
him  the  substance  of  the  family  discus- 
sions. "  If  my  legs  were  like  yours,  I 
wouldn't  be." 

Dan~called  his  friend  "  Jo."  It  was  not 
quite  right  for  Joshua,  he  said,  but  it 
sounded  pretty.  And  so  it  did,  especially 
from  his  lips. 

"  I  wish  your  legs  were  like  mine,  Dan," 
said  Joshua. 

"  It's  of  no  use  wishing,"  replied  Dan. 
"  You  know  what  mother  says  ;  it  takes  all 
sorts  to  make  a  world." 

'•  Sound  legs  and  broken  legs  —  eh, 
Dan  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dan  merrily  ;  "  and 
long  ones  and  short  ones,  and  thick  ones 
and  thin  ones.  Besides,  if  I  had  the 
strongest  and  biggest  legs  in  the  world,  I 
don't  think  I  should  be  happier  than  I 
am." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  like  to  be  a  hero  — 
the  same  as  I  am  going  to  be  Y "  asked 
Joshua. 

'■  We  can't  all  be  heroes.  You  go  and 
fight  with  lions  ;  I  will  stop  and  play  with 
birds.  I  couldn't  tame  lions  ;  but  I  can 
tame  birds."     Which  he  could,  and  did. 

Dan  was  fond  of  speaking  about  lions 


because  his  name  was  Daniel ;  and  many 
and  many  a  time  had  he  and  Joshua  read 
the  wonderful  story  of  Daniel  in  the  lions' 
den.  Joshua  did  not  know  much  of  the 
Bible  until  Dan  introduced  it  to  him,  and 
read  to  him  in  his  thin  sweet  voice  the 
marvellous  romances  in  that  Book  of 
books. 

"  There  was  a  hero  for  you  1 "  exclaimed 
Joshua  admiringly,  referring  to  the  biblical 
Daniel.  "  I  wonder  what  made  him  so 
brave." 

''  Because  he  was  doing  what  he  knew 
to  be  right,"  replied  Dan. 

"  I  dare  say,"  was  the  acquiescent  re- 
joinder. 

"  And  because  he  was  not  afraid  to 
speak  the  truth  even  to  Belshazzar;  and 
because,  above  all,  he  believed  in  God. 
So  God  delivered  him." 

"  All  because  he  was  doing  right,"  said 
Joshua. 

"  All  because  he  was  doing  right,"  re- 
peated Dan.  "  I'm  not  a  bit  brave  ;  that 
is  because  I  am  lame,  perhaps.  If  I  was 
thrown  into  a  lions'  den  I  should  die  of 
fear  —  I  am  sure  I  should  ;  but  if  I  was 
thrown  into  a  birds'  cage,  full  of  strange 
birds,  I  would  soon  make  friends  with 
them  ;  they  would  come  and  eat  out  of  my 
hand  in  no  time." 

Dan,  indeed,  was  wonderfully  learned 
about  birds  and  their  habits,  and  possessed 
a  singular  power  over  them.  He  could 
train  them  to  any  thing  almost.  And  bear 
this  in  mind  ;  he  used  no  cruel  means  in 
his  training  of  them.  What  he  taught 
them  he  taught  them  by  kindness ;  and 
they  were  subservient  to  him  from  love, 
and  not  from  fear.  The  nature  of  the  af- 
fliction which  condemned  him  to  a  seden- 
tary life,  sharpened  and  concentrated  his 
mental  faculties,  and  endued  him  with  a 
surprising  patience.  If  it  had  been  other- 
wise, he  could  never  have  trained  the 
birds  so  thoroughly.  Never  mind  what 
they  were  —  blackbirds,  linnets,  larks, 
bullfinches,  canaries  —  they  were  one  and 
all  his  willing  slaves,  and,  in  the  course  of 
time,  performed  the  tasks  he  set  them 
with  their  best  ability.  Give  Dan  any  one 
of  these  birds,  and  in  a  few  weeks  it  would 
hop  upon  his  finger,  dance  at  his  whistle, 
come  at  his  call,  flill  dead  upon  the  table, 
and  jump  up  again  at  a  given  signal  as 
lively  as  a  cricket.  He  made  little  carts 
for  them  to  draw,  little  swords  for  them  to 
carry,  little  ladders  for  them  to  climb  up, 
little  guns  for  them  to  fire  off,  little  houses 
for  them  to  go  in  at  the  doors  of  and  come 
out  of  the  chimneys  of.  It  was  a  sight 
worth  seeing  to  watch  them  go  through 
their  performances  ;  to  see  the  dead  bird 
lie  on  its  back  on  the  table,  and   watch 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OP  GOLDEN  CLOUD. 


13 


cunningly  out  of  a  corner  of  its  left  eye  for 
the  signal  which  allowed  it  to  come  to  life 
again;  to  see  the  family  birds,  after  in- 
dulo-ing  in  a  little  sensible  conversation  on 
the  doorstep,  go  into  the  house,  the  door 
of  which  closed  with  a  spring  directly  they 
got  on  the  inside  of  it,  and  then  presently 
to  see  their  heads  pop  out  of  the  chimneys, 
as  if  their  owners  were  wondering  what 
sort  of  weather  it  was  ;  to  see  the  first  vil- 
lain of  the  company  hop  upon  the  cart  in 
which  the  pop-gun  was  fixed,  and  hop  upon 
a  slip  of  wood  which  in  some  mysterious 
manner  acted  upon  the  gun,  and  caused  it 
to  go  off —  and  then  to  see  the  desperado 
watch  for  dreadful  consequences  which 
never  followed;  to  see  that  cold-blooded 
and  desperate  bird  jump  briskly  down,  as 
if  it  were  not  disappointed,  and  place  its 
neck  in  a  ring  in  the  shafts,  and  hop  away 
to  another  battle-field  ;  to  see  the  two  mili- 
tary birds  march  up  and  down  in  front  of 
the  house,  holding  little  wooden  swords  in 
their  beaks,  as  who  should  say  to  an  ad- 
vancing foe,  "  Approach  if  you  dare,  and 
meet  your  doom  !  "  to  see  the  climbing-bird 
hop  up  the  steps  of  the  ladder,  and  then 
hop  down  again  triumphantly,  as  if  it  had 
performed  a  feat  of  which  bird-kind  might 
be  proud ;  and  to  know  that  the  birds  en- 
joyed the  fun  and  delighted  in  it;  were 
pleasant  things  to  see  and  know,  and  could 
do  no  one  any  harm.  Of  course  there  were 
hitches  in  the  performances  ;  occasionally 
the  birds  were  dull  or  obstinate  ;  but,  as  a 
rule,  they  were  tractable  and  obedient ; 
and  if  they  did  sometimes  bungle  their 
tricks  they  might  very  well  be  excused, 
for  they  were  but  feeble  creatures  after 
all. 

So  Dan  passed  his  time  innocently,  and 
loved  his  pets,  and  his  pets  loved  him. 
Joshua  grew  to  love  them  too.  He  learned 
all  their  pretty  little  vocal  tricks,  and  could 
imitate  the  different  languages  of  the  birds 
in  such  a  wonderful  manner  that  they 
would  stop  and  listen  to  his  warbling,  and 
would  answer  it  with  similar  joyful  notes 
of  their  own.  And  when  Dan  and  he  were 
in  a  merry  mood  —  which  was  not  seldom 
—  they  and  the  birds  would  join  in  a  con- 
cert which  was  almost  as  good,  and  quite 
as  enjoyal)le,  as  the  scraping  of  fiddles  and 
the  playing  of  flutes.  Sometimes,  in  the 
evening,  Joshua  would  play  soft  music 
upon  his  second-hand  accordion ;  and  di- 
rectly he  sounded  the  first  note  the  birds 
would  hop  upon  the  table  and  stand  in  a 
line,  with"  their  heads  inclined  on  one  side, 
listening  to  Joshua's  simple  melodies  with 
the  gravity  of  connoisseurs,  and  would  not 
flutter  a  feather  of  their  little  wings  for 
fear  they  should  disturb  the  harmony  of 
sound. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

LIFE  AND  DEATU  OF  GOLDEN  CLOUD. 

There  was  one  canary  which  they  had 
christened  Golden  Cloud.  It  was  one  of 
the  two  canaries  that  Dan  had  first  trained  ; 
and  for  this  and  other  reasons  Golden  Cloud 
was  a  special  favorite  with  the  lads.  Dan 
used  to  declare  that  Golden  Cloud  literally 
understood  every  word  he  spoke  to  it. 
And  it  really  appeared  as  if  Dan  were 
right  in  so  declaring  and  so  believing;  it 
was  certainly  a  fact  that  Golden  Cloud  was 
a  bird  of  superior  intelligence.  The  other 
birds  were  of  that  opinion,  or  they  would 
not  have  accepted  its  leadership.  When 
they  marched.  Golden  Cloud  was  at  the 
head  of  them  —  and  very  proud  it  appeared 
to  be  of  its  position ;  when  the  perform- 
ances took  place,  Golden  Cloud  was  the 
first  to  commence;  if  any  thing  very  re- 
sponsible and  very  particular  were  to  be 
done,  Golden  Cloud  was  intrusted  with  it; 
and  if  any  new  bird  was  refractory,  it  de- 
volved upon  Golden  Cloud  to  assist  Dan 
to  bring  that  bird  to  its  senses.  The  birds 
did  not  entertain  a  particle  of  envy  towards 
Golden  Cloud  because  it  had  attained  an 
eminence  more  distinguished  than  their 
own ;  and  this  fact  was  as  apparent,  as  it 
must  have  been  astonishing,  to  any  reflec- 
tive human  being  who  enjoyed  the  happy 
privilege  of  being  present  now  and  then  at 
the  performances  of  Dan's  clever  troupe. 
Even  when  old  age  crept  upon  it  —  it  was 
in  the  prime  of  life  when  Dan  first  took  it 
in  hand  —  the  same  respect  was  paid  to  the 
sagamore  of  the  company.  Its  sight  grew 
filmed,  its  legs  grew  scaly,  its  feathers  grew 
ragged.  What  matter  ?  Had  it  not  been 
kind  and  gentle  to  them  when  in  its  prime  ? 
Should  they  not  be  kind  and  gentle  to  it 
now  that  Time  was  striking  it  down? 
And  was  it  not,  even  in  its  decrepitude,  the 
wise  bird  of  them  all  ? 

Notwithstanding  that  it  grew  more  and 
more  shaky  every  hour  almost,  the  old 
sense  of  duty  was  strong  in  the  heart  of 
Golden  Cloud ;  and  it  strove  to  take  part 
in  the  performances  to  the  last.  Golden 
Cloud  had  evidently  learned  the  lesson, 
that  to  try  always  to  do  one's  duty  is  the 
sweetest  thing  in  life.  In  that  respect  it 
was  wiser  than  many  human  beings, 
who  should  have  been  wiser  than  it.  It 
was  a  melancholy  sight,  yet  a  comical 
one,  withal,  to  see  Golden  Cloud  lift  a 
sword  with  its  beak,  and  try  to  hold  it 
there,  and  hop  with  it  at  the  head  of  the 
company.  It  staggered  here  _  and  there, 
and,  being  almost  blind,  sometimes  hit  an 
inoffensive  bird  across  the  beak,  which 
caused  a  momentary  confusion;  but  every 


14 


JOSHUA  MAKVEL. 


thing  was  set  riglit  as  quickly  as  could  be. 
The'otlier  birds  bore  with  Golden  Cloud's 
infirmities,  and  made  its  labors  light  for  it. 
Even  the  tomtit  —  that  saucy,  beautiful  ras- 
cal, with  its  crown  of  Cambridge  blue,  who 
had  been  the  most  refractory  bird  that 
Golden  Cloud  ever  had  to  deal  with,  who 
would  turn  heels  over  head  in  the  midst 
of  a  serious  lesson,  and  who  would  hop  and 
twist  about  and  agitate  its  staid  companions 
with  its  restless  tricks  —  even  the  tomtit, 
whose  greatest  delight  was  to  steal  things 
and  break  things,  but  whose  spirit  had 
been  subdued  and  tamed  by  Golden  Cloud's 
firmness,  assisted  the  veteran  in  its  old  age, 
and  did  not  make  game  of  it. 

One  evening  Joshua  came  round  to  Dan's 
room  rather  later  than  usual,  and  found 
Dan  in  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Dan  ? "  asked 
Joshua. 

Dan  did  not  reply. 

"  Do  your  legs  hurt  you,  Dan  ?  "  asked 
Joshua  tenderly. 

Dan  formed  a  "  No "  with  his  lips,  but 
uttered  no  sound. 

Joshua  thought  it  best  not  to  tease  his 
friend  with  any  more  questions.  He  saw 
that  Dan  was  suffering  from  a  grief  which 
he  would  presently  unbosom.  He  took  his 
accordion  on  his  knee,  and  began  to  play 
very  solely.  As  he  played,  a  canary  in  a 
mourning-cloak  came  out  of  the  toy-house  ; 
another  canary  in  a  mourning-cloak  fol- 
lowed ;  then  a  bullfinch,  and  another  bull- 
finch ;  then  the  tomtit  and  the  linnets  ;  and 
then  the  blackbirds;  all  in  little  black 
cloaks  which  Ellen  Taylor's  nimble  fingers 
had  made  lor  them  that  day  out  of  a  piece 
of  the  lining  of  an  old  frock.  At  the  sight 
of  the  first  canary,  with  its  black  cloak  on, 
Joshua  was  filled  with  astonishment ;  but 
when  bird  after  bird  followed,  and  ranged 
themselves  solemnly  in  a  line  before  him, 
and  when  he  missed  the  presence  of  one 
lamiliar  friend,  he  solved  the  riddle  of  their 
strange  appearance;  the  birds  were  in 
mourning  for  the  death  of  Golden  Cloud. 

They  seemed  to  know  it,  too ;  they 
seemed  to  know  that  they  had  lost  a  friend, 
and  that  they  were  about  to  pay  the  last 
tribute  of  respect  to  their  once  guide  and 
master.  The  bullfinches,  their  crimson 
breasts  hidden  by  their  cloaks,  looked,  with 
their  black  masks  of  laces,  like  negro  birds 
in  mourning;  the  amiable  linnets,  unob- 
trusive and  shy  as  they  generally  were, 
were  still  more  quiet  and  sad  than  usual ; 
even  the  daring  blackbirds  were  subdued  — 
with  the  exception  of  one  who,  in  the  midst 
of  a  silent  interval,  struck  up  "  Polly,  put 
the  kettle  on,"  in  its  shrill  whistle,  but,  ob- 
serving the  eyes  of  the  tomtit  fixed  upon  it 
with  an  au:  of  reproach,  stopped  in  sudden 


remorse,  with  the  "  kettle  "  sticking  in  its 
throat. 

Dan  had  made  a  white  shroud  for  Golden 
Cloud ;  and  it  was  both  quaint  and  mourn- 
ful to  see  it  as  it  lay  in  its  coffin  —  Dan's 
money-box  —  surrounded  by  the  mourners 
in  their  black  cloaks.  They  stood  quite 
still,  with  their  cunning  little  heads  all  in- 
clined one  way,  as  if  they  were  waiting  for 
news  concerning  their  dead  leader  from  the 
world  beyond  the  present. 

Joshua,  with  a  glance  of  sorrow  at  the 
coffin,  said, — 

"  Your  money-box,  Dan  I  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  buried  it  in  a 
flower-pot,  Jo,"  replied  Dan,  suppressing 
a  sob. 

"  Wliy  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Mother  said  father  would  be  angry,"  — 

Here  the  blackbird  —  perceiving  that  the 
tomtit  was  no  longer  observing  it,  and 
inwardly  fretting  that  it  should  have 
been  pulled  up  short  in  the  midst  of  its 
favorite  song  ;  also  feeling  awkward,  doubt- 
less, with  a  kettle  in  its  throat  — piped 
out,  with  amazing  rapidity  and  shrillness, 
"Polly,  put  the  kettle  on;  we'll  all  have 
tea." 

The  blue  feathers  in  the  tomtit's  tail 
quivered  with  indignation,  and  its  white- 
tipped  wings  fluttered  reprovingly.  Moral 
force  was  evidently  quite  thrown  away  upon 
such  a  blackbird  as  that ;  so  the  tomtit  be- 
stowed upon  the  recreant  a  sharp  dig  with 
its  iron  beak,  and  the  blackbird  bore  the 
punishment  with  meekness  ;  merely  giving 
vent,  in  response,  to  a  wonderful  imitation 
of  the  crowing  of  an  extremely  weak  cock, 
who  led  a  discontented  life  in  a  neighbor- 
ing back-yard.  After  which  it  relapsed 
into  silence. 

Dan,  who  had  stopped  his  speech  to  ob- 
serve this  passage  between  the  birds,  re- 
peated, — 

"  Mother  said  father  would  be  angry  ;  he 
knows  how  many  flower-pots  we  have.  So 
I  used  my  money-box." 

"But  you  would  rather  have  a  flower- 
pot, Dan  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  liked  a  flower-pot  above 
all  things  ;  it  seems  more  natural  for  a  bird. 
Something  might  grow  out  of  it ;  something 
that  Golden  Cloud  would  hke  to  know  is 
above  it,  if  it  was  only  a  blade  of  grass." 

Joshua  ran  out  of  Dan's  room,  and  re- 
turned in  a  very  few  minutes  with  a  flower- 
pot with  mignonette  growing  in  it.  He  was 
almost  breathless  with  excitement. 

"  It  is  mine,  Dan,"  he  said,  "  and   it  is 

yours.     I  bought  it  with  my  own  money ; 

and  it  shall  be  Golden  Cloud's  coffin." 

"  Kiss  me,  Jo,"  said  Dan. 

Joshua  kissed  him,  and  then  carefully 

lifted  the  flower-roots  from  the  pot,  and 


LIFE   AND   DEATH  OF   GOLDEN   CLOUD. 


15 


placed  Golden  Cloud  in  the  soft  mould  be- 
neath. A  few  tears  full  from  Dan's  eyes 
into  the  flower-pot  coffin,  as  he  looked  for 
the  last  time  upon  the  form  of  his  pet  ca- 
nary. Then  Joshua  replaced  the  ilower- 
roots,  and  arranged  the  earth,  and  Golden 
Cloud  was  ready  fur  binial. 

"  Play  something,  Jo,"  said  Dan. 

Joshua  took  his  accordion  in  his  hands, 
and  played  a  slow  solemn  march  ;  and  the 
birds,  directed  by  Dan,  hopped  gravely 
round  the  llower-pot,  the  tomtit  keeping  its 
eye  sternly  fixed  upon  the  rebellious  black- 
bird, expressing  in  the  look  an  unmistaka- 
ble determination  to  put  an  instant  stop  to 
the  slightest  exhibition  of  indecency. 

"  I  don't  know  where  to  bury  it,"  said 
Dan,  when  the  ceremony  was  completed. 
"  Ellen  has  been  trying  to  pick  out  a  flag- 
stone in  the  yard,  but  she  made  her  fingers 
bleed,  and  then  couldn't  move  it.  And  if 
it  was  buried  there,  the  stone  would  have  to 
be  trodden  down,  and  the  flowers  in  the 
coffin  couldn't  grow." 

"  There's  that  Kttle  bit  of  garden  in  our 
yard,"  said  Joshua.  "  I  can  bury  it  there, 
if  you  don't  mind.  I  can  put  the  flower- 
pot in  so  that  the  mignonette  will  grow  out 
of  it  quite  nicely.  It  isn't  very  far,  Dan," 
continued  Joshua,  divining  Dan's  wish  that 
Golden  Cloud  should  be  buried  near  him ; 
"  only  five  yards  off,  and  it  is  the  best  place 
we  know  of." 

Dan  assenting,  Joshua  took  the  flower- 
pot, and  buried  it  in  what  he  called  his  gar- 
den ;  which  was  an  estate  of  such  magnifi- 
cent proportions  that  he  could  have  covered 
it  with  his  jacket.  He  was  proud  of  it  not- 
withstanding, and  considered  it  a  grand 
property.  A  boundary  of  oyster-shells  de- 
fined the  limits  of  the  estate,  and  served  as 
a  warning  to  trespassing  feet.  In  the  cen- 
tre of  this  garden  Golden  Cloud  was  buried. 
When  Joshua  returned  to  Dan's  room,  the 
mourning-cloaks  were  taken  off  the  birds  — 
who  seemed  very  glad  to  get  rid  of  them  — 
and  they  were  sent  to  bed. 

Dan  was  allowed  to  sit  up  an  hour  long- 
er than  usual  that  night,  and  he  and  Joshua 
occupied  those  precious  minutes  in  confiden- 
tial conversation.  First  they  spoke  of 
Golden  Cloud,  and  then  of  Joshua's  pros- 
pects. 

"You  haven't  made  up  your  mind  yet 
what  you  are  going  to  be,  Jo,"  said  Dan. 

"  I  "haven't  made  up  my  mind,"  replied 
Joshua,  "  but  I  have  an  idea.  I  don't  want 
you  to  ask  me  what  it  is.  I  will  tell  you 
soon  —  in  a  few  weeks  perhaps." 

"  Where  have  you  been  to-day  ?  You 
were  late." 

"  I  went  to  the  waterside." 

"  To  the  river  ?  " 

"  To  the  river." 


"  To  the  river  that  runs  to  the  sea,"  said 
Dan  musinnjly,  with  a  dash  of  regret  in  his 
voice.     "  What  a  wonderful  sight  it  must 
be  to  see  the  sea,  as  we  read  of  it  1    Would 
you  like  to  see  it,  Jo  ?  " 
"  Dearly,  Dan  I  " 
"  And  to  be  on  it  ?  " 
"  Dearly,  Dan  !  " 

Dan  looked  at  Joshua  sadly.  There  was 
an  eager  longing  in  Joshua's  eyes,  and  an 
eager  longing  in  the  parting  of  his  lips,  as 
he  sat  with  hands  clasped  upon  his  knee. 

"  I  can  see  a  great  many  things  that  I 
have  never  seen,"  said  Dan ;  "  see  them 
with  my  mind,  I  mean.  I  can  see  gardens 
and  fields  and  trees,  almost  as  they  are.  I 
can  fancy  myself  lying  in  fields  with  the 
grass  waving  about  me.  I  can  fancy  my- 
self in  a  forest  with  the  great  trees  spread- 
ing out  their  great  limbs,  and  I  can  see  the 
branches  bowing  to  each  other  as  the  wind 
sweeps  by  them.  I  can  see  a  little  stream 
running  down  a  hill,  and  hiding  itself  in  a 
valley.  I  can  even  see  a  river  —  but  all 
rivers  must  be  muddy,  I  think ;  not  bright, 
like  the  streams.  But  I  can't  see  the  sea, 
Jo.     It  is  too  big  —  too  wonderful !  " 

Rapt  iu  the  contemplation  of  the  sub- 
ject, Dan  and  Joshua  were  silent  for  a  lit- 
tle while. 

"  Ships  on  the  top  of  water-mountains," 
resumed  Dan  presently,  "  then  down  in  a 
valley  like,  vnth  curling  waves  above  them. 
That  is  what  I  have  read  ;  but  I  can't  see 
it.  '  Robinson  Crusoe  '  is  behind  you,  Jo." 
Joshua  opened  the  book  —  it  was  a  favor- 
ite one  with  the  lads,  as  with  what  lads  is 
it  not  ?  —  and  skimmed  down  the  pages  as 
he  turned  them  over. 

"  '  A  raging  wave,  mountain-like,  came 
rolling  astern  of  us,'  "  he  said. 

"  Tiaat  is  the  shipwreck,"  said  Dan,  look- 
ing over  Joshua's  shoulder.  "  Then  here, 
fiirther  down :  '  I  saw  t!ie  sea  come  after 
me  as  high  as  a  great  hill,  and  as  furious  as 
an  enemy.'  Think  of  that !  Here 
picture." 

The  lads  looked  for  the  thousandth  time 
at  the  rough  wood-cut,  in  which  Robinson 
was  depicted  casting  a  look  of  terror  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  curling  waves,  ten  times 
as  tall  as  himself;  his  arms  were  extended, 
and  he  was  supposed  to  be  running  away 
from  the  waves  ;  although,  according  to  the 
picture,  nothing  shoi-t  of  a  miracle  could 
save  him. 

"  Look  1  "  said  Joshua,  turning  a  few 
pages  back  and  reading,  '  yonder  lies  a 
dreadful  monster  on  the  side  of  that  hiUock, 
fast  asleep.'  " 

'* '  I  looked  where  he  pointed,'  "  read  Dan 
—  it  was  a  favorite  custom  with  them  to 
read  each  a  few  lines  at  a  time  —  "  '  and  saw 
a  dreadful  monster  indeed,  for  it  was  a  ter- 


16 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


rible  great  lion  that  lay  on  the  side  of  the 
shore,  under  the  shade  of  a  piece  of  the  hill 
that  hung  as  it  were  a  little  over  him.  Xury, 
says  I,  you  shall  go  on  shore,  and  kill  him.'  " 

"  Could  you  kill  a  lion,  Jo  ?  "  asked  Dan, 
breaking  off  in  his  reading. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Joshua,  considering 
and  feeling  very  doubtful  of  his  capability. 

Dan  resumed  the  reading :  — 

"  '  I  took  our  biggest  gun,  which  was  al- 
most musket-bore,  and  loaded  it  with  a  good 
charge  of  powder  and  with  two  slugs,  and 
laid  it  down;  then  I  loaded  another  gun 
with  two  bullets  ;  and  the  third  (for  we  had 
three  pieces),  I  loaded  with  five  smaller 
bullets.' " 

"  No,  I  couldn't  kill  a  lion,"  said  Joshua, 
in  a  tone  of  disappointed  conviction  ;  "  for 
I  can't  fire  off  a  gun.  But  that  occurred 
nearly  two  hundred  years  ago,  Dan.  I  don't 
suppose  there  are  as  many  lions  now  as 
there  used  to  be." 

"  And  ships  are  different,  too,  to  what 
they  were  then,  Jo,"  said  Dan,  closing  the 
book.  "  Stronger  and  better  built.  I  dare 
say  if  it  had  been  a  very  strong  ship  that 
Robinson  Crusoe  went  out  in,  he  wouldn't 
have  been  wrecked." 

"  I  am  glad  he  was,  though ;  if  he  hadn't 
been,  we  shouldn't  have  been  able  to  read 
about  him.     It  is  beautiful,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Beautiful  to  read, "  replied  Dan.  "  But 
he  was  dreadfully  miserable  sometimes  ;  for 
twenty-four  years  and  more  he  had  no  one 
to  speak  to.  It  appears  strange  to  me  that 
he  didn't  forget  how  to  speak  the  English 
language,  and  that  he  didn't  go  mad.  Now, 
Jo,  supposing  it  was  you  !  Do  you  think,  if 
you  had  no  one  to  speak  to  for  twenty  years, 
that  you  would  be  able  to  speak  as  well 
as  you  do  now  ?  Don't  you  think  you  would 
stammer  over  a  word  sometimes,  and  lose 
the  sense  of  it  ?  " 

Dan  asked  these  questions  so  earnestly, 
that  Joshua  laughed,  and  said,  — 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know,  Dan. " 

But  the  time  was  to  come  when  the  mem- 
ory of  Dan's  questions  came  to  Joshua's 
mind  with  a  deep  and  solemn  significance. 

"  He  had  his  parrot  certainly,  "  continued 
Dan ;  "  but  what  used  he  to  say  to  it  ? 
*  Robin,  Robin,  Robin  Crusoe  !  Poor  Robin 
Crusoe  1  IIow  came  you  here  ?  Where  have 
you  been,  Robin  ?  '  That  wasn't  much  to 
say,  and  to  be  always  saying ;  and  I  am  sure 
that  if  he  kept  on  saying  it  for  so  many 
years,  he  must  have  entirely  forgotten  what 
the  meaning  of  it  was.  You  try  it,  —  say  a 
word,  or  two  or  three  words,  for  a  hundred 
times.  You  will  begin  to  wonder  what  it 
means  before  you  come  to  the  end." 

"  But  he  had  his  Bible ;  and  you  know 
•what  a  comfort  that  was  to  him." 

"  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  he  didn't 


go  mad.  I  dare  say,  too,  that  some  qualities 
in  him  were  strengthened  and  came  to  his 
aid  because  he  was  so  strangely  situated. 
What  quaUties  now,  Jo  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Dan." 

"  I  do  say  things  sometimes  you  don't  un- 
derstand at  first,  don't  I,  Jo  ?  " 

Joshua  nodded  good-humoredly. 

"  I  am  often  puzzled  myself  to  know  what 
I  mean.  Leaving  Robinson  Crusoe  alone, 
and  speaking  of  qualities,  Jo,  take  me  for  an 
instance.  I  am  a  cripple,  and  shall  never  be 
able  to  go  about.  And  do  you  know,  Jo,  that 
my  mind  is  stronger  than  it  would  have  been 
if  I  were  not  helpless  ?     I  can  see  things." 

"  Can  you  see  any  thing  now,  Dan  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What?" 

''  I  can  see  something  that  will  separate 
you  and  me,  Jo." 

"Forever,  Dan?" 

"No,  not  forever;  we  shall  be  together 
sometimes,  and  then  you  can  tell  me  all 
sorts  of  things  that  I  shall  never  be  able 
to  see  myself." 

"  Don't  you  think  your  legs  will  ever  get 
strong?"  asked  Joshua. 

"Never,  Jo;  they  get  worse  and  worse. 
And  I  feel,  too,  so  weak,  that  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  not  have  strength  to  use  my  crutches 
much  longer.  Every  thing  about  me  —  my 
limbs,  and  joints,  and  every  thing  —  gets 
weaker  and  weaker  every  day.  If  it  wasn't 
for  my  body,  I  should  be  all  right.  My  mind 
is  right.  I  can  talk  and  think  as  well  as  if 
my  body  were  strong.  Stupid  bits  of  fle^h 
and  bone  1  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  his 
limbs,  and  good-humoredly  scolding  them. 
"  Why  don't  you  fly  away  and  leave  me  ?  " 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  Mrs. 
Taylor  called  out  that  it  was  time  for  Dan 
to  go  to  bed,  so  the  lads  parfeed.  That 
night  Joshua  dreamed  that  he  killed  a  lion ; 
and  Dan  dreamed  that  Golden  Cloud  came 
out  of  the  flower-pot,  and  it  wasn't  dead, 
but  only  pretending. 

Dan  had  good  reason  for  speaking  in  the 
way  he  did  of  his  body,  for  it  distressed  him 
very  much.  Soon  after  the  death  of  Gold- 
en Cloud,  he  grew  so  weak  and  ill  that  he 
was  confined  to  his  bed.  But  his  mind 
scarcely  seemed  to  be  affected  by  his  bodily 
ills,  and  his  cheerfulness  never  deserted  him. 
He  had  his  dear  winged  companions  brought 
to  his  bedroom,  and  they  hopped  about  his 
bed  as  contentedly  as  could  be.  And 
there  he  played  with  them  and  took  delight 
in  them  ;  and,  as  he  hearkened  to  their  chir- 
ruppings,  and  looked  at  their  pretty  forms, 
a  sweet  pleasure  was  in  his  eyes,  a  sweet 
pleasure  was  in  his  heart.  And  this  pleas- 
ure was  enhanced  by  the  presence  of  Josh- 
ua, who  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  with 
his  sick  friend. 


LIFE   AND   DEATH   OP   GOLDEN   CL 


17 


The  tender  love  that  existed  between 
the  kids  was  uiidefiled  by  a  single  selfish 
act  or  thought.  They  were  one  in  sympa- 
thy and  sentiment.  Joshua  was  Dan's  al- 
most only  companion  during  his  illness. 
Dan's  mother  tendtui  him  and  gave  him  his 
physic,  which  could  not  do  him  any  good, 
the  doctor  said;  but  Mrs.  Taylor's  house- 
hold duties  and  responsibilities  occupied 
nearly  the  Avhole  of  her  time  ;  she  could 
not  artbrd  to  keep  a  servant,  and  she  had 
all  the  kitchen-work  to  do.  Ellen  —  Dan's 
twin-sister  and  Joshua's  quondam  sweet- 
heart—  was  often  in  the  room;  but,  young 
as  she  was,  she  was  already  being  employed 
about  the  house  assisting  her  mother. 
She  scrubbed  the  floors  and  washed  the 
clothes ;  and,  although  she  was  so  little 
that  she  had  to  stand  on  a  chair  in  the  tiny 
yard  to  hang  the  clothes  on  the  line,  she 
was  as  proud  of  her  work,  and  took  as  much 
pleasure  in  it,  as  if  she  were  a  grown  wo- 
man, who  had  been  properly  brought  up. 
Notwithstanding  the  onerous  nature  of  her 
duties,  she  managed  to  spend  half  an  hour 
now  and  again  with  Josh  and  Dan,  and 
would  sit  quite  still  listening  to  the  conver- 
sation. Her  presence  in  the  room  was 
pleasing  to  the  boy-friends,  for  Ellen  was 
as  modest  and  tidy  a  little  girl  as  could  be 
met  with  in  a  day's  walk. 

Susan,  Dan's  unfortunate  nursemaid, 
was  a  young  woman  now.  But  she  had  a 
horror  of  the  sick-room.  She  entertained 
a  secret  conviction  that  she  was  a  murder- 
«_s,  and  really  had  some  sort  of  an  idea 
that  if  Daniel  died  she  would  be  taken  up 
and  hanged.  She  was  as  fascinated  as 
ever  with  Punch  and  Judy  ;  but  the  fesci- 
nation  had  something  hon'ible  in  it.  Often 
when  she  was  standing  looking  at  the  show 
—  and  she  was  more  welcome  to  the  show- 
man than  she  used  to  be,  for  now  she  some- 
times gave  him  a  penny  —  she  would  be- 
gin to  tremble  when  the  hangman  came  on 
the  scene  with  his  gallows,  and  Avould  then 
fairly  run  away  in  a  fright.  Ever  since 
she  had  let  Daniel  slip  from  her  arms  out 
of  the  window,  there  had  been  growing  in 
her  mind  a  fear  that  something  dreadful 
was  following  her ;  and  a  dozen  times  a 
day  she  would  throw  a  startled  look  behind 
her,  as  if  to  assure  herself  that  there  was 
nothing  horrible  there.  She  had  been 
sufliciently  punished  for  her  carelessness. 
For  a  good  many  weeks  after  it  occurred, 
bad  little  boys  and  girls  in  the  neighbor- 
hood used  to  call  after  her,  "  Ah-h-h  !  Who 
killed  her  little  brother?  Ah-h-h!"  If 
she  ran,  they  ran  after  her,  and  hooted  her 
with  the  dreadful  accusation.  It  took 
different  forms.  Now  it  was,  "  Ah-h-h-h  ! 
Who  killed  her  little  brother  ?  Ah-h-h  1  " 
And  now  it   was,   "  Ah-h-h  I    Who'll  be 


hung  for  killing  her  little^rother'?  Ah-h*-" 
h-h  !  "  Such  an  effect  did  this  cruel  punish- 
ment have  upon  her,  that  she  would 
wake  up  in  terror  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  with  all  her  fevered  pulses  quivering 
to  the  cry,  "  Ah-h-h-h  !  Who'll  be  hung 
for  killing  her  little  brother?  Ah-h-h-h  1" 
But  time,  which  cures  all  things,  relieved 
her.  The  bad  boys  and  girls  grew  tired  of 
savinac  the  same  thing  over  and  over 
again.  A  new  excitement  claimed  their 
attention,  and  poor  Susan  was  allowed  to 
walk  unmolested  through  the  streets.  But 
the  effect  remained  in  the  terror-flashes 
that  would  spring  in  her  eyes,  and  in  the 
agonized  looks  of  fear  that  she  would 
throw  behind  her  every  now  and  again, 
without  any  apparent  cause.  These  feel- 
ings had  such  a  powerful  effect  upon  her, 
that  she  never  entered  Dan's  room  unless 
she  were  compelled  to  do  so ;  and  once, 
when  Dan  sent  for  her  and  asked  her  to 
forgive  him  for  being  naughty  when  he 
was  a  baby,  she  was  so  affected  that  she 
did  nothing  but  shed  remorseful  tears  for  a 
week  afterwards. 

One  day,  when  Dan  was  playing  with  the 
birds,  and  no  other  person  but  he  and 
Joshua  was  in  the  room,  he  said,  — 

"  Do  you  think  the  birds  know  that  I 
am  so  weak  and  ill,  Jo,  dear  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  think  they  do,  Dan,"  an- 
swered Joshua. 

"  Dear  little  things  !  You  haven't  any 
idea  how  weak  I  really  am.  But  I  am 
strong  enough  for  something." 

"  What,  Dan  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  ask  any  questions,  I  sha'n't 
tell  you  any  stories,"  replied  Dan  gayly. 
"  Lend  me  your  penknife." 

Joshua  gave  Dan  his  penknife,  and  when 
he  came  the  next  day  Dan  was"  cutting 
strips  of  wood  from  one  of  his  crutches. 

"  O  Dan  !  "  exclaimed  Joshua,  bursting 
into  tears. 

Dan  looked  at  Joshua,  and  smiled. 

"  O  you  cry-baby  !  "  he  said.  But  he 
said  it  in  a  voice  of  exquisite  tenderness ; 
and  he  drew  Joshua's  head  on  to  the  pillow, 
and  he  laid  his  own  beside  it,  and  he 
kissed  Joshua's  lips. 

"  I  shall  not  want  my  crutches  any  more," 
he  whispered  in  Joshua's  ear  as  thus  they 
lay ;  "  that  is  all.  It  isn't  as  bad  as  you 
think." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  die,  Dan  ? " 
asked  Joshua  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"I  don't  think  I  am  —  yet.  It  is  only 
because  I  am  almost  certain  —  I  feel  it,  Jo 
—  that  I  shall  be  a  helpless  cripple  all  my 
life,  and  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  move 
about,  even  with  the  help  of  crutches." 

"  Poor  dear  Dan  !  "  said  Joshua,  check- 
in"-  his  sobs  with  difficulty. 


18 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


"  Poor  Dan  I  Not  at  all !  I  can  read, 
I  can  think,  and  I  can  love  you,  Jo,  all  the 
same.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  what  I 
am  goiui^  to  do.  I  shall  live  in  you.  You 
are  my  tnend,  and  strong  as  you  are,  you 
can't  iove  me  more  than  I  love  you.  And 
even  if  I  was  to  die,  dear  "  — 

"  Don't  say  that,  Dan  ;  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  it." 

"  Why  ?  It  isn't  dreadful.  If  I  was  to 
die,  we  should  still  be  friends  —.  we  should 
still  love  each  other.  Don't  you  love 
Golden  Cloud  ?  " 

Joshua  whispered  "  Yes." 

"  But  Golden  Cloud  is  not  here.  Yet 
you  love  him.  And  so  do  I,  more  than  I 
did  when  pet  was  alive.  I  don't  quite 
know  how  it  is  with  birds,  but  I  do  know 
how  it  is  with  us.  If  you  was  here,  Jo, 
and  I  was  there,  we  should  meet  again." 

"  Amen,  Dan  !  " 

"  And  ic  is  nice  to  believe  and  know  — 
as  you  and  I  believe  and  know  —  that  if 
we  were  parted,  we  should  come  together 
again  by  and  by  ;  and  that  perhaps  the  dear 
little  birds  would  be  with  us  there  as  they 
are  here,  and  that  we  should  love  them  as 
we  love  them  now.  They  are  so  pretty  and 
harmless  that  I  think  God  will  let  them 
come.  Besides,  what  would  the  trees  do 
without  them  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dan,  by  saying 
that  you  are  going  to  live  in  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  curious  fency,  Jo,  but  I  have 
thought  of  it  a  good  deal,  and  I  want  you 
to  thmk  of  it  too.  I  want  to  be  with  you, 
although  I  shall  not  be  able  to  move.^  You 
are  going  to  be  a  hero,  and  are  going  to 
see  strange  sights  perhaps.  I  can  see  far- 
ther than' you  can  ;  and  I  know  the  mean- 
ino-  of  your  going  down  to  the  riverside,  as 
you  have  done  a  good  many  times  lately. 
I  know  what  you  will  make  up  your  mimi 
to  be,  although  I  sha'n't  say  until  you  tell 
me  yourself.  Well,  Jo,  I  want  you  to 
fancy,  if  I  don't  know  what  is  happening  to 
you  —  if  you  are  in  any  strange  place,  and 
are  seeing  wonderful  things  —  I  want  you  to 
fancy, '  Dan  is  here  with  me,  although  I  can- 
not see  him.'     Will  you  do  that,  Jo,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  wherever  I  am,  and  whatever  I 
shall  see,  I  will  think,  '  Dan  is  here  with 
me,  although  I  cannot  see  him.' " 

"  Tliat  is  friendship.  This  isn't,"  said 
Dan,  holding  up  a  finger;  "this  is  only  a 
little  bit  of  tlesh.  If  it  is  anywhere  about 
us,  it  is  here  ;  "  and  he  took  Joshua's  fin- 
gers, and  pressed  them  to  his  heart.  Then, 
after  a  pause  of  a  few  moments,  he  said, 
«  So  don't  cry  any  more  because  I  am 
cutting  up  my  crutches ;  I  am  making  some 
new  things  tor  the  birds." 

Thev  had  a  concert  after  that ;  and  the 
blackbird  whistled  "  Polly,  put  the  kettle 


on,"  to  its  heart's  content ;  and  the  tomtit 
performed  certain  difficult  acrobatic  tricks 
in  token  of  approval. 

Dan  recovered  so  far  from  his  sickness 
as  to  be  able  to  leave  his  bed.  But  it  al- 
most appeared  as  if  he  was  right  in  saying 
that  he  should  not  want  his  crutches.  He 
had  not  sufficient  strength  in  his  shoulders 
to  use  them.  He  had  to  be  lifted  in  and 
out  of  bed,  and  sometimes  could  not  even 
wash  and  dress  himself.  Ellen  Taylor  was 
his  nurse,  and  a  dear  good  nurse  she  proved 
herself  to  be.  A  cross  word  never  passed 
her  lijis.  She  devoted  herself  to  the  ser- 
vice of  her  helpless  brother  with  a  very 
perfect  love ;  and  her  nature  was  so  beauti- 
ful in  its  gentleness  and  tenderness  that 
those  qualities  found  expression  in  her  face, 
and  made  that  beautiful  also.  Dan  had 
yielded  to  Joshua's  entreaties  not  to  de- 
stroy his  crutches.  "  You  might  be  able  to 
use  them  some  day,"  Joshua  would  say. 
To  which  Dan  would  reply  by  asking  gayly 
if  Joshua  had  ever  heard  of  a  miracle  in 
Stepney.  However,  he  kept  his  crutches, 
and  Joshua  was  satisfied.  In  course  of 
time  Joshua  began  to  train  a  few  birds  at 
his  own  house,  and  now  and  then  Dan's 
parents  would  allow  Dan  to  be  carried  to 
Joshua's  house,  and  to  stop  there  for  a  few 
days.  When  that  occurred,  Dan  and  Jo- 
shua slept  together,  and  would  tell  stories  to 
each  other  long  after  the  candle  had  been 
blown  out  —  stories  of  which  Joshua  was 
almost  always  the  hero.  Joshua  had  one 
great  difficulty  to  overcome  when  he  first 
introduced  the  birds  into  his  house ;  that 
difficulty  was  the  yellow-haired  cat,  of 
which  mention  has  already  been  made. 
With  the  usual  amiability  of  her  species, 
the  domestic  tigress,  directly  she  set  eyes 
upon  the  birds,  determined  to  make  a  meal 
of  them,  and  it  required  all  Joshua's  vigi- 
lance to  prevent  the  slaughter  of  the  inno- 
cents. But  he  was  patient,  and  firm,  and 
kind,  and  he  so  conquered  the  tigerish  pro- 
pensities of  the  cat  towards  the  birds,  that 
in  a  few  weeks  she  began  to  tolerate  them, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  more  to  play  with  them 
and  to  allow  them  to  play  with  her,  and 
gradually  grew  so  cordial  with  them  that  it 
might  have  been  supposed  she  had  kittened 
them  by  mistake. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IN  WHICH  DAN  GETS  WILD  NOTIONS  INTO 
HIS  HEAD,  AND  MAKES  SOME  VERT 
BOYISH     EXPERIMENTS. 

If  every  farthing    of  the  allowance  of 
pocket-money  which  Joshua  and    Dan  re- 


DAN'S   EXPERIMENTS. 


19 


ceived  from  their  respective  parents  had 
been  carefully  saved  up,  it  would  nut  have 
amounted  to  a  very  lari^e  sum  in  the  course 
of  the  year.  Insignificant,  however,  as 
was  the  allowance,  it  sufficed  for  their  small 
wants,  and  was  made  to  yield  good  interest 
in  the  way  of  social  enjoyment.  The  lads 
did  not  keep  separate  accounts.  Wliat 
was  Josliua's  was  Dan's,  and  what  was 
Dan's  was  Joslma's.  As  there  were  no 
secret  clasps  in  their  minds  concealing 
something  which  tlie  other  was  not  to 
share  and  enjoy,  so  there  was  no  secret 
clasp  in  their  money-box  which  debarred 
either  ii'ora  spending  that  which,  strictly 
speaking,  belonged  to  his  friend.  Dan  was 
the  treasurer  ;  the  ti'casury  Avas  the  money- 
box whicii  was  to  have  been  Golden  Cloud's 
coffin.  Dan's  allowance  was  two  pence  a 
week,  which  was  often  in  arrears  in  con- 
sequence of  ills  father  being  too  fond  of 
public-houses  ;  Joshua's  allowance  was  lour 
pence  a  week,  which  he  received  very  reg- 
ularly. But  each  of  their  allowances  was 
supplemented  by  contributions  from  inde- 
pendent sources.  The  motives  which 
prompted  these  contributions  were  of  a, 
very  diiferent  nature ;  as  the  following  will 
explain :  — 

'*  Something  more  for  the  money-box, 
Dan,"  said  Joshua,  producing  a  four-penny 
piece,  and  dropping  it  into  the  box. 

"  From  tlie  same  partj^,  Jo  ?  "  asked  Dan. 

"  From  the  same  jolly  old  party,  Dan. 
From  the  Old  Sailor." 

"  Is  he  nice  ?  " 

"  The  Old  Sailor  ?  You  should  see  him, 
that's  all." 

"  You  have  been  down  to  the  waterside 
again,  then  V  " 

"  Yes.  Tuck-tuck-joey  1 "  This  latter 
to  the  linnet,  who  came  out  to  have  a  peep 
at  Joshua,  and  who,  directly  it  heard  the 
greeting,  responded  with  the  sweetest  peal 
of  music  that  mortal  ever  listened  to. 
When  the  linnet  had  finished  its  song  the 
obtrusive  and  greedy  blackbird,  deter- 
mined not  to  be  outdone,  and  quite  ignor- 
ing the  fact  that  it  had  had  a  very  good 
supper,  ordered  Polly  to  put  the  kettle  on, 
in  its  most  piercing  notes. 

"  Did  you  go  on  tlie  river,  Jo?"  asked 
Dan. 

"  Yes.  In  a  boat.  Rowing.  The  Old 
Sailor  says  I  am  getting  along  famously." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  Old  Sailor." 

"  I  wish  you  could ;  but  he  is  such  a 
strange  old  fellow !  He  doesn't  care  for 
the  land.  When  I  tell  mother  what  I  am 
making  up  my  mind  to  be  —  wliat  I  shall 
have  made  up  mind  then  to  be  —  I  will 
coax  him  to  come  to  our  house.  I  want  him 
to  talk  to  mother  about  the  sea,  for  she  is 
sure  to  cry  and  fret,  and  although  the  Old 


Sailor  doesn't  think  that  women  are  as  good 
as  men,  he  thinks  mothers  are  better." 

Dan  laughed  a  pleasant  little  laugh. 

"  That  is  queer,"  he  said. 

"  He  knows  all  about  you,  and  he  asks 
me  every  day,  '  How  is  Dan  V  '  " 

"  I  am  glad  of  that  —  very  glad." 

"  So  am  I.  I  have  told  him  all  about  the 
birds,  and  how  they  love  you.  You  would 
never  guess  what  lie  said  to-day  about  you." 

"  Something  very  bad,  I  dare  say,"  said 
Dan,  knowing  very  well,  all  the  time,  that 
it  was  something  good,  or  Joshua  would 
not  tell  him. 

"  Something  very  bad.  He  said,  '  He 
must  be  a  fine  little  chap' — meaning  you, 
Dan  — '  or  the  birds  wouldn't  love  him.'  " 

"  Has  he  been  all  over  the  world,  Jo?  " 

"  All  over  the  world ;  and  O  Dan,  he 
has  seen  such  places  !  " 

'•  I  tell  you  what  we  will  do,"  said  Dan. 
"  To-morrow  you  shall  buy  a  couple  of 
young  bullfinches,  and  you  shall  find  out 
some  tune  the  Old  Sailor  is  fond  of,  and  I 
will  teach  the  bullfinches  to  whistle  it. 
Then  you  shall  give  the  birds  to  the  Old 
Sailor,  and  say  they  are  a  present  from  me 
and  you." 

"  That  will  be  prime  I  He  will  be  so 
pleased ! " 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  him  sing,  Jo?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Joshua,  laughing ;  "  I 
have  heard  him  sing,  — 

'  Which  is  the  properest  day  to  drink, 

Saturday,  Sunday,  Monday  ? 
Each  is  the  properest  day,  I  think  — 

Why  should  1  name  but  one  day  ? 
Tell  me  but  j'ours,  I'll  mention  my  day, 

Let  us  but  fix  on  some  day  — 
Tuesday,  Wednesday.  Thursday.  Friday, 

Saturday,  Sunday,  or  Monday.'  " 

"  I  don't  think  that  would  do,"  said  Dan, 
echoing  Joshua's  laugh. 

"  Here's  another,"  said  Joshua,  and  he 
played  a  prelude  to  "  Poor  Tom  Bowling," 
antl  sang  the  first  verse,  — 

'  Here  a  sheer  hulk  lies  poor  Tom  Bowling, 

The  darling  of  our  crew  ; 
No  more  he'll  hear  the  tempest  howling, 

For  death  has  broached  him  too. 
His  form  was  of  the  manliest  beauty, 

His  heart  was  kind  and  soft, 
Faithful  below  Tom  did  his  duty, 

But  now  he's  gone  aloft, 

But  now  he's  gone  aloft.'  " 

Joshua  sang  the  words  with  much  tender 
feeling,  but  Dan  shook  his  head. 

"  The  birds  would  never  be  able  to  get 
the  spirit  of  the  song  into  them,"  he  said, 
"and  the  tune  is  nothing  without  that. 
Never  mind  —  we'll  teach  tliem  something, 
and  then  the  Old  Sailor  shall  have  them." 

"  And  I  shall  tell  him  they  are  a  present 
from  you  alone." 

"  No,"    said  Dan   energetically ;    "  that 


20 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


would  spoil  it  all.  They  are  from  you  and 
me  together.  Can't  you  guess  the  reason 
why  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  can,"  replied  Joshua,  after 
a  little  consideration.  "  The  Old  Sailor 
likes  me,  and  you  want  him  to  like  you 
because  of  me,  not  because  of  yourself 
alone  ;  you  want  him  to  like  me  more  be- 
cause of  you  —  as  I  am  sure  he  will  when 
he  knows  you." 

"  That's  it.  I  want  him  to  know  that 
we  love  each  other,  and  that  we  shall  al- 
ways love  each  other,  whether  we  are  to- 
gether or  separated.  I  want  everybody 
who  likes  you,  Jo,  to  like  me." 

Joshua  laid  his  hand  upon  Dan's,  which 
rested  on  the  table,  and  Dun  placed  his 
other  hand  upon  Joshua's  playfully.  Their 
hands  were  growing  to  be  very  unlike. 
Dan's  hand,  as  it  grew,  became  more  deli- 
cate, while  Joshua's  grew  stronger  and 
more  muscular.  Dan  laughed  another 
pleasant  laugh  as  he  remarked  the  differ- 
ence between  them.  "  That  is  a  proper 
kind  of  hand  for  a  hero,"  he  said.  And 
then,  in  a  more  serious  voice,  "  Joshua,  do 
you  know  I  think  we  can  see  each  other's 
thoughts."  And  so,  indeed,  it  appeared 
as  if  they  could. 

The  next  day  the  bullfinches  were  bought, 
and  Dan  began  to  train  them.  They  were 
a  pair  of  very  young  birds,  not  a  dozen 
days  old,  and  the  air  Dan  fixed  upon  to 
teach  them  fii-st  was  "  Rule,  Britannia." 

So  much  tor  Joshua's  supplemental  con- 
tributions to  the  general  fund.  Now  for 
Dan's. 

"  Another  sixpence  in  a  piece  of  paper, 
Jo!  " 

"  That  makes  eighteen  pence  tliis  month, 
Dan.     Poor  Susan  !  " 

"  Poor  Susan  !  "  echoed  Dan. 

Susan  was  very  much  to  be  pitied.  Look- 
ing upon  herself  as  her  brother's  destroyer, 
she  endeavored,  by  ofil'rings  of  sLxpences 
as  often  as  she  could  afford  them,  to  atone 
for  the  crime  —  for  so  she  now  regarded 
it  —  by  which  she  had  made  him  a  help- 
less cripple.  Tliese  sixpences  were  not 
given  openly;  they  were  laid,  as  it  were, 
upon  the  sacrificial  altar  in  secret.  Some- 
times the  altar  was  one  of  Ellen's  shoes, 
and  Ellen,  when  she  dressed  herself,  would 
feel  something  sticking  in  her  heel,  and 
discover  it  to  be  a  sixpence  tightly  screwed 
up  in  a  piece  of  paper,  with  the  words, 
"  For  Dan ;  from  Susan,"  written  on  it ; 
sometimes  the  altar  was  one  of  Dan's  pock- 
et-handkerchiefs, and  the  sixpence  was  tied 
up  in  a  knot ;  sometimes  it  was  a  bag  of 
bird-seed;  sometimes  Dan's  cap.  She  "was 
8o  imbued  with  a  sense  of  guilt,  that  she 
trembled  when  she  met  Dan's  eye.  He 
was  as  kind  and  gentle  to  her,  when  he 


had  the  opportunity,  as  he  was  to  all 
around  him ;  and  divining  her  secret  re- 
morse, he  tried  by  every  means  in  his 
power  to  lessen  it.  But  the  feeling,  that, 
if  Dan  died,  she  was  a  murderess,  was  too 
deeply  implanted  in  her  to  be  ever  removed. 
She  lived  in  constant  fear.  She  was  afraid 
of  the  dark,  and  could  not  sleep  M'itliout  a 
rush-light  near  her  bedside.  Often  in  the 
night,  on  occasions  when  Dan  was  weaker 
than  usual,  she  would  creep  down  stairs,  and 
listen  at  his  bedroom-door  to  catch  the 
sound  of  his  breathing.  If  she  did  not 
hear  it  at  first,  the  ghostly  echo  of  the  old 
terrible  cry,  "  Ah-h-h-h  !  who  killed  her  lit- 
tle brother?  Ah-h-h-h!"  filled  the  stair- 
case and  the  passage  with  dreadful  shad- 
ows ;  shadows  that  seemed  to  thicken  and 
gather  about  her  as  if  possessed  with  a  de- 
sire to  stifle  her  —  and  she  would  press  her 
hands  tightly  upon  her  eyes  so  that  she 
should  not  see  them.  Then  perhaps  she 
would  open  Dan's  door  quietly,  and  hearing 
him  breathe,  ever  so  softly,  would  creep  up 
stairs  again,  a  little  more  composed  ;  al- 
ways closing  her  door  quickly,  to  prevent 
the  shadows  on  the  stairs  from  coming  into 
her  room. 

The  supplemental  contributions  from  Su- 
san and  the  Old  Sailor  were  very  accept- 
able to  Dan  and  Joshua,  who  were  both  fond 
of  reading.  What  was  not  spent  in  birds' 
food  was  spent  in  books.  They  subscribed  to 
two  magazines,  the  "  Penny  Magazine  "  and 
the  "  Mirror,"  which  came  out  weekly  ;  the 
subscription  was  a  serious  one  for  them,  and 
made  a  great  hole  in  their  pocket-money : 
it  swallowed  up  three  pence  per  week.  The 
addition  of  a  new  book  to  their  modest 
library  was  one  of  the  proudest  events  in 
their  quiet  lives.  "  I^ew  "  books  is  not  a 
strictly  correct  phrase,  for  the  collection 
consisted  of  second-hand  volumes,  picked 
up  almost  at  random  at  old-book  stalls. 
Although  their  library  was  a  small  one, 
not  uunibering  in  its  palmiest  days  more 
than  fifty  volumes,  it  was  wonderfully  mis- 
cellaneous. Now  it  was  a  book  of  travels 
that  Joshua  bought ;  now  a  book  of  poems  ; 
now  an  odd  volume  of  a  magazine ;  now  a 
book  on  natural  history ;  now  a  speculative 
book  which  neither  of  the  boys  could  under- 
stand —  not  at  all  a  weak  reason  in  favor  of 
its  being  purchased.  Over  these  books  the 
boys  would  pore  night  after  night,  and  ex- 
tract such  marrow  from  them  as  best  suited 
their  humor.  The  conversations  which  arose 
out  of  their  readings  were  worth  listening 
to ;  Dan's  observations,  especially,  were 
very  quaint  and  original,  and  gave  evi- 
dence, not  only  of  good  taste,  but  of  the 
possession  of  reflective  powers  of  a  high 
order. 

An  old  book  on  dreams  which   Joshua 


DAN'S    EXPERIMENTS. 


21 


bought  for  a  song,  a&  the  saying  is,  proved 
especially  attractive  to  Dan.     The  proper 
title  of  tlie   book  was   the  "  Philosophy  oi" 
Dreams,"     an    ambitious      sub-title  —  the 
"Triumph  of  Mind  over  Matter"  —  being 
aflixed.     Dan   read  and  re-read  this  book 
with   avidity.     In  it  the  writer  contended 
that  a  person  coukl  so  command  and  con- 
trol his   mental  forces,  as  to  train  himself 
to  dream  of  events  which   were   actually 
takiuf  place  at  a  distance  from  him,  at  the 
precise    moment    they    occurred.      Space, 
said  the  author,  was  of  the  smallest  conse- 
quence.     There  was   one  thing,  however, 
that   was    absolutely     necessary  —  that   a 
perfect  sympathy  should  exist  between  the 
dreamer  and  the  person  or  persons  of  whom 
he  was  dreaming.     It  was  a  wildly-specula- 
tive book  taken  at  its  best,  and  contained 
much   irrelevant    and    ridiculous    matter ; 
but  it  was  just  the  kind  of  book  to  attract 
such  a  lad  as  Dan,  and  it  set  him  thinking. 
"  Perfect  sympathy !     Such   a  sympathy," 
he  thought,   "  as  exists   between    me  and 
Jo;  "    and   he    proceeded    to    read    with 
greater  eagerness.     The  author,  in  support 
of  his  theory,  dragged  in   nearly    all  the 
sciences;  and  drew  largely  upon  that  of 
phrenology.      He  explained  whei-e  certain 
organs  lay,  such  as  wonder,  veneration,  be- 
nevolence, destructiveness,   and  proceeded 
somewhat    in    the  following  fashion :    Say 
that  a  person  is   sleeping,  and  that  he  is 
not  disturbed  by  any  special  powerful  emo- 
tion, arising  probably  from  strong   anxiety 
connected  with  his  worldly  circumstances. 
His  mind  must  be  at  rest,  and  his  sleep  be 
calm  and  peaceful.     Under  these  circum- 
stances, if  a  certain  organ,  say  the  organ 
of  veneration,  be  gently  pressed,  the  sleeper 
will  presently  dream  a  dream,  in  which  the 
sentiment  of  veneration  will  be  the  quality 
most  prominently  brought  into  play.     And 
so  with  wonder,  and  benevolence,  and  com- 
bativeness,  and  other  qualities.       Having 
stated  this  very  distinctly,  the  writer  pro- 
ceeded, as  if  the  mere  statement  were  suf- 
ficient   proof  of  its  incontestability  :    say 
that  between  the  sleeper  and  the  operator 
a  strong    and  earnest  sympathy  existed ; 
the  operator,  selecting  in   his  mind  some 
person  with  whom  they  ai-e  both  acquainted, 
brings  his  power  of  will  to  bear  upon  the 
sleeper.      (Here    the.  writer     interpolated 
that  the  experiment  would  fail  if  the  or- 
gans   of    concentrativeness    and     firmness 
were  not  more  than  ordinarily  large  in   the 
operator.)      With    his   mind   firmly   fixed 
upon  the  one  object,  he  wills  that  the  sleep- 
er shall  dream   of  their   mutual  acquaint- 
ance ;  and  as  he  wills  it,  with  all  the  in- 
tensity he  can  exercise,  he  gently  manipu- 
lates the  sleeper's  organ  of  tune  —  which, 
by  the  way,  the  author  stated  he  believed 


was  the  only  one  of  the  purely  intellectual 
faculties  which  could  be  [)rcssed  into  ser- 
vice. The  sleeper  will  then  (h'caiu  oi'  liie 
sc;lected  person,  and  his  sense  of  melody 
and  tiie  harmony  of  sound  will  be  gralified. 
Then,  in  a  decidedly  vague  manner,  as  if 
he  had  got  himself  in  a  tangle  from  which 
he  did  not  know  how  to  extricate  himself, 
the  author  argued  that  what  one  person 
could  do  to  another,  he  could  do  also  to 
himself,  and  that  the  effect  produced  upon 
another  person  by  physical  m:inipulation 
may  be  produced  upon  one's  self  l)y  a  strong 
concentration  of  will.  During  our  waking 
moments  he  said,  the  aflective  faculties  of 
our  mind  are  brought  into  play.  Thus,  we 
see  and  wonder ;  thus,  we  see  and  vene- 
rate ;  thus,  we  sec  and  pity.  These  facul- 
ties or  sentiments  are  excited  and  make 
themselves  felt  without  any  effort  on  our 
part.  If,  then,  circumstances,  which  previ- 
ously did  not  affect  us,  can  thus  act  upon 
us  without  the  exercise  of  voluntary  effort 
to  produce  sensation ;  if  circumstances, 
in  which  we  had  no  reason  to  feel  the 
slightest  active  interest,  can  cause  us  to 
venerate,  to  pity,  to  wonder  —  broadly,  to 
rejoice  and  to  suffer  —  why  should  we  not 
be  able,  by  the  aid  of  a  jjowerful  sympathy 
and  an  earnest  desire,  to  bring  into  reason- 
ing action  the  fixculties  which  are  thus  ex- 
cited by  uninteresting  and  independent 
circumstances  ? 

Thus  far  the  author :  unconscious  that 
he  had  fallen  into  the  serious  error  of  con- 
founding the  affective  with  the  intellectual 
faculties,  and  not  appearing  to  understand 
that,  whereas  an  affective  faculty  can  be 
brought  into  conscious  action  by  independ- 
ent circumstances,  an  intellectual  faculty 
requires  a  direct  mental  effort  before  it  is 
excited.  His  essay  was  not  convincing. 
He  wandered  off  at  tangents  ;  laid  down  a 
theory,  and,  proceeding  to  establish  it,  so 
entangled  himself  that  he  lost  its  connect- 
ing threads ;  and  had  evidently  been  un- 
able to  properly  think  out  a  subject  which 
is  not  entirely  unworthy  of  consideration. 
However,  he  had  written  his  book,  and  it 
got  into  Dan's  hands  and  into  Dan's  head. 
Joshua  did  not  understand  it  a  bit,  and 
said  so ;  and  when  he  asked  Dan  to  explain 
it,  Dan  could  scarcely  fit  words  to  what 
was  in  his  mind. 

"  Ahhough  I  cannot  explain  it  very 
clearly,  I  can  understand  it,"  said  Dan. 
"  He  means  to  say  that  a  person  can  see 
with  his  mental  sight  "  — 

"That  is,  with  his  eyes  shut,"  inter- 
rupted Joshua  jocularly. 

"  Certainly,  with  his  eyes  shut,"  said  Dan 
very  decidedly.  "  Our  eyes  are  shut  when 
we  dream,  yet  we  see  things."  Joshua 
became   serious  immediately  ;  the  answer 


22 


JOSHUA  MAKVEL. 


was  a  convincing  one.  "  And  that  proves 
that  we  have  two  senses  of  siglit  —  one  in 
the  eyes,  the  other  in  the  mind.  Haven't 
you  seen  rings,  and  circles,  and  clouds  when 
you  are  in  bed  at  night,  and  before  you  go 
to  sleep  ?  I  can  press  my  face  on  the  pil- 
low and  say  —  not  out  loud,  and  yet  1  say 
it  and  can  hear  it  —  which  shows  that  all 
our  senses  are  double."  (In  his  eagerness 
to  expliifin  what  he  could  scarcely  compre- 
hend, Dan  was  in  danger  of  falling  into  the 
same  error  as  the  author  of  the  "  Triumph  of 
Mind  over  Matter"  had  fallen  into,  that  of 
flying  oft'  at  tangents  :  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty he  could  keep  to  his  subject.)  "  Well, 
Jo,  I  press  my  head  into  the  pillow,  and 
say,  '  I  will  see  rings,'  and  presently  I  see 
a  little  ball,  black,  perhaps,  and  it  grows 
and  grows  into  rings  —  like  what  you  see 
when  }'ou  throw  a  stone  in  the  water  — 
larger  and  larger,  all  the  different  colors  of 
the  rainbow ;  and  then,  when  they  have 
grown  so  lai'ge  as  to  appear  to  have  lost 
themselves  in  space — just  like  the  rings 
in  the  water,  Jo  —  another  little  ball  shapes 
itself  in  the  dark,  and  gradually  becomes 
visible,  and  then  the  rings  come  and  grow 
and  disappear  as  the  others  did.  When  I 
have  seen  enough,  I  say  —  not  out  loud 
again,  Jo,  but  silently  as  I  did  before  — '  I 
don't  want  to  see  any  more,'  and  they 
don't  come  again.  What  I  can  do  with 
rings,  I  can  doAvith  clouds.  I  say,  '  I  will 
see  clouds,'  and  they  come,  all  colors  of 
blue,  from  white-blue  to  black-blue  ;  some- 
times I  see  sunsets." 

"  I  have  seen  them  too,  Dan,"  said 
Joshua ;  "  I  have  seen  skies  with  stars  in 
them,  just  as  I  have  seen  them  with  my 
eyes  wide  open." 

"  Now,  if  we  can  do  this,"  continued  Dan, 
"  why  cannot  we  do  more  ?  " 

"  We  can't  do  what  he  says  in  this 
book,"  said  Joshua,  drumming  with  his 
fingers  on  the  "  Philosophy  of  Dreams." 

"  I  don't  know.  Why  should  he  write 
all  that  unless  he  knew  something  ?  There 
is  no  harm  in  trying,  at  all  events.  Let 
me  see.  Here  is  a  chart  of  a  head, 
Jo  turning  to  a  diagram  in  the  book. 
•'  Where  is  combativeness  ?  Oh  !  here,  at 
the  back  of  the  head,  behind  the  ear.  Can 
you  feel  it,  Jo  ?  Is  it  a  large  bump  ?  No ; 
you  are  going  too  high  up,  I  am  sure. 
Now  you  are  too  much  in  the  middle.  Ah  ! 
that's  the  place,  I  think." 

These  last  sentences  referred  to  Joshua's 
attempt  to  find  Dan's  organ  of  combative- 
ness. 

"  I  don't  feel  anything  particular,  Dan," 
he  said. 

"  But  you  feel  something,  don't  you,  Jo  ?  " 
asked  Dan  anxiously.  "  There  is  a  bump 
there,  isn't  there  ?  " 


"  A  very  little  one,"  answered  Joshua, 
earnestly  manipulating  Dan's  head,  and 
pressing  the  bump.  "  Do  you  feel  spite- 
ful ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dan,  laughing. 

"  There's  a  bump  twice  as  large  just 
above  your  fighting  one." 

"  What  is  that  bump  ?  "  said  Dan,  ex- 
amining the  diagram  again.  "  Ah  I  that 
must  be  adhesiveness." 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  means." 

"  Give  me  the  dictionary ; "  and  Dan 
with  eager  fingers  turned  over  the  pages  of 
an  old  Walker's  Dictionary.  "  '  Adhesive 
—  sticking,  tenacious,'  "  he  read.  "  That 
is,  that  I  stick  to  a  thing,  as  I  mean  to  do 
to  this.  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Jo. 
I  shall  sleep  at  your  house  to-morrow  night, 
and  when  I  am  asleep,  you  shall  press  my 
organ  of  combativeness  —  put  your  fingers 
on  it  —  yes,  there  ;  and  when  I  wake  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  have  dreamed  of." 

"  All  right,"  said  Joshua,  removing  his 
fingers. 

"  You  will  be  able  to  find  the  place 
again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dan." 

"  And  you  will  be  sure  to  keep  awake  ?  " 

"  Sure,  Dan." 

The  following  night,  Joshua  waited  very 
patiently  until  Dan  was  asleep.  He  had 
to  wait  a  long  time ;  for  Dan,  in  consequence 
of  his  anxiety,  was  longer  than  usual  get- 
ting to  sleep.  Once  or  twice  Joshua 
thought  that  his  friend  was  in  the  Land  of 
Nod,  and  he  commenced  operations,  but  he 
was  interrupted  by  Dan  saying  drowsily, 
"  I  am  not  asleep  yet,  Jo."  At  length  Dan 
really  went  off,  and  then  Joshua,  very 
quietly  and  with  great  care,  felt  for  Dan's 
organ  of  combativeness,  and  pressed  it. 
Joshua  looked  at  his  sleeping  friend  with 
anxiety.  "  Pei'haps  he  will  hit  out  at  me," 
he  thought.  But  Dan  lay  perfectly  still, 
and  Joshua,  after  waiting  and  watching  in 
vain  for  some  indication  of  the  nature  of 
Dan's  sleeping  fancies,  began  to  feel  very 
sleepy  himself,  and  went  to  bed.  In  the 
morning,  when  they  were  both  awake, 
Joshua  asked  what  Dan  had  dreamed  of. 

"  1  can't  remember,"  said  Dan,  rubbing 
his  eyes. 

"  I  pressed  your  combativeness  for  a  long 
time,  Dan,"  said  Joshua;  "and  I  pressed 
it  so  hard  that  I  was  almost  afraid  you 
would  hit  out." 

"  I  didn't,  did  I  ?  " 

"  No ;  you  were  as  still  as  a  mouse." 

"  I  dreamed  of  something,  though,"  said 
Dan,  considering.  "  Oh,  I  remember  I  I 
dreamed  of  you,  Jo ;  you  were  standing  on  a 
big  ship,  with  a  big  telescope  in  your  hand. 
You  had  no  cap  on,  and  your  hair  was  all 
flying  about." 


DAN'S   EXPERIMENTS. 


23 


"  "Were  there  any  sailors  on  the  ship  ?  " 

"  A  jzood  many." 

"  Did  you  quarrel  with  any  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  dream  of  myself  at  all." 

"  Did  any  of  the  sailors  quarrel  with 
me?" 

"  There  wasn't  any  quarrelling,  Jo,  that 
I  can  remember." 

"  So  you  see,"  said  Joshua,  "  that  it  is  all 
fud;ie." 

"I  don't  see  that  at  all.  Now  I  think  of 
it,  it  isn't  likely  that  I  should  dream  of 
quarrelling  with  any  one  or  fighting  with 
any  one  when  I  was  dreaming  of  you,  Jo." 

"  Or  perhaps  you  haven't  any  combative- 
ness,  Dan." 

"  Perhaps  I  haven't.  It  wouldn't  be  of 
much  use  to  me  if  I  had,  for  I  shouldn't 
know  how  to  fight." 

"  Or  perhaps  your  combativeness  is  so 
small  that  it  won't  act,"  said  Joshua  sport- 
ively. 

"  Don't  joke  about  it,  Jo,"  said  Dan. 
"  You  don't  know  how  serious  I  am,  and 
how  disappointed  I  feel  at  its  being  a  fail- 
ure.    Will  you  try  it  again  to-night  ?  " 

Joshua,  seeing  that  Dan  was  very  much 
in  earnest,  readily  promised ;  and  the  ex- 
periment was  repeated  that  night,  with 
the  same  result.  After  that  the  subject 
dropped  for  a  time. 

But  if  Dan's  organ  of  adhesiveness  — 
which,  phrenologically,  means  affection, 
friendship,  attachment  —  was  large,  it  was 
scarcely  more  powerful  than  his  organ  of 
concentrativeness.  His  love  for  Joshua 
was  perfect.  He  knew  that  Joshua's  choice 
of  a  pursuit  would  separate  him  from  his 
friend.  "\Mien  he  said  to  Joshua,  '•  I  shall 
live  in  you,  Jo,"  the  words  conveyed  the 
expression  of  no  light  feeling,  but  of  a  deep 
earnest  longing  and  desire  to  be  always 
with  his  friend  —  to  be  always  with  him, 
although  oceans  divided  them.  If  no  mis- 
fortune had  befallen  him,  if  his  limbs  had 
been  sound  and  his  body  strong,  Dan  would 
have  been  intellectually  superior  to  boys  in 
the  same  station  of  life  as  himself.  De- 
barred as  he  was  from  their  amusements, 
their  anxieties,  and  their  general  ways  of 
life,  he  was  thrown,  as  it  were,  upon  his  in- 
tellect for  consolation.  It  brought  him,  by 
the  blessing  of  God,  such  consolation  that 
his  mislbrtune  might  have  been  construed 
into  a  thing  to  be  coveted.  There  is  good 
in  every  thing. 

All  Dan's  sympathies  were  with  Joshua. 
Dan  admired  him  for  his  determination,  for 
bis  desire  to  be  better  than  his  fellows.  It 
was  Dan  who  first  declared  that  Joshua  was 
to  be  a  hero ;  and  Joshua  accepted  Dan's 
dictum  with  complacency.  It  threw  a  halo 
of  romance  around  his  determination  not 
to  be  a  wood-turner,  and  not  to  do  as  his 


father  had  done  before  him.  The  reader, 
from  these  remarks,  or  the  incidents  that 
follow,  may  now  or  presently  understand 
why  the  wildly-vague  essay  on  the  "  Phi- 
loso[)hy  of  Dreams ;  or  the  Triumph  of 
Mind  over  INIatter,"  took  Dan's  mind  pris- 
oner and  so  infatuated  him. 

Referring  to  the   book  again,  after  the 
failure  of  the  experiments  upon  his  organ 
of  combativeness,  Dan  found  a  few  simple 
directions  by  which  the  reader  could  test, 
in  a  minor  degree,  the  power  of  the  min(l 
over  the  sleeping  body.     One  of  the  most 
simple  was  this :  A  person,  before  he  goes 
to  sleep,  must  resolutely  make  up  his  mind 
to  wake  at  a  certain  hour  in  the  morninjr. 
lie  must  say  to  himself,  "  I  want  to  wake 
at  five  o'clock  —  at  five  o'clock  —  at   five 
o'clock  ;    I  ivill  awake   at  five  o'clock  —  I 
will  —  I  -will  —  I  will !  "  and  continue  to  re- 
peat the  words  and  the  determination  over 
and  over  again  until  he  fell  asleep,  with 
the  resolve  firmly  fixed   in  his  mind.     If 
you  do  this,  said  the  writer,  you  will  awake 
at  five  o'clock.     Dan  tried  this  experiment 
the  same  night  —  and  failed.    He  repeated 
it  the  following  night,  and  the  night  follow- 
ing that,  with  the  same  i-esult.     His  sleep 
was  disturbed,  but  that  was  all.     But  on 
the   fourth   night   matters  were   difierent. 
Five  o'clock  was  the  hour  Dan  fixed  upon, 
and  nothing  was  more  certain  than  that  on 
the  fourth  night  Dan  woke  up  at  the  pre- 
cise moment.     There  were  two  churches  in 
the  immediate   neighborhood,   and,  as  he 
woke,  Dan  heard  the  first  church-bell  toll 
the    hour.       One,    two,   three,    four,   five. 
Each  stroke  of  the  bell  was  followed  by  a 
dismal  hum  of  woful    tribulation.      Then 
the  other  church-bell  struck  the  hour,  and 
each  stroke  of  that  was  followed  by  a  cheer- 
ful ring,  bright  and  crisp  and  clear.     Dan 
smiled  and   hugged  himself,  and  went  to 
sleep  again,  cherishing  wild  hopes  which  he 
dared   not   confess   even  to  himself.      He 
tried    the    experiment    on     the   following 
night,  fixing  on  a  difierent  time,  half-past 
three.     Undaunted  by  that  and  many  other 
failures,  he  tned  again  and  again,  until  one 
night   he  awoke  when  it  was  dark.      He 
waited  anxiously  to  hear  the  clocks  strike. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  very  long  half-hour,  but 
the  church-bell  struck  at  last.     One,  two, 
three,   four.     With    a    droning    sound   at 
the  end  of  each  stroke,  as  if  a  myriad  bees, 
imprisoned  in  a  cell,  were  giving  vent  to  a 
long-sustained  and   simultaneous  groan  of 
entreaty  to  be  set  free;   or  as  if  the  bell 
were  wailing  for  the  hour  that  was  dead. 
Then  the  joyous  church-bell  struck     One, 
two,     three,     four.      A    wedding-peal    in 
each  stroke ;  sparkling,  although  invisible, 
like  stars    in    a    clear  sky  on    a    frosty 
night. 


24 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


Dan  went  to  sleep,  almost  perfectly 
happy. 

He  repeated  his  experiment  every  night, 
until  he  had  a  very  nearly  perfect  com- 
mand over  sleep  as  far  as  regarded  time, 
and  could  wake  almost  at  any  hour  he  de- 
sired. Then  he  took  a  forward  step. 
While  playing  with  his  birds  he  said,  "  To- 
night I  will  dream  of  you."  But  the 
thought  intervened  that  he  had  often 
dreamed  of  the  birds,  and  that  to  dream  of 
them  that  night  would  not  be  very  remark- 
able. So  he  said,  "No,  I  will  not  dream 
of  the  birds  that  are  living ;  I  will  dream 
of  Golden  Cloud."  It  was  a  long  time  now 
since  Golden  Cloud  had  been  buried,  but 
Dan  had  never  forgotten  his  pet.  When  he 
went  to  bed  he  said,  "  I  will  dreaiii  of 
Golden  Cloud  —  a  pleasant  dream."  And 
he  dwelt  upon  his  wish,  and  expressed  it  in 
words,  again  and  again.  That  night  he 
dreamed  of  Golden  Cloud,  and  of  its  pretty 
tricks ;  of  its  growing  old  and  shaky  ;  of  its 
death  and  burial.  Then  he  saw  something 
that  he  had  never  seen  before.  He  saw  it 
lying  quite  contented  and  happy  at  the 
bottom  of  its  flower-pot  coffin,  and  when  he 
chu'ruped  to  it,  it  chiiTuped  in  return. 

He  told  his  dream  to  Joshua. 

"  I  have  dreamed  of  Golden  Cloud  a  good 
many  times,"  said  Joshua. 

"  But  I  made  up  my  mind  especially  to 
dream  of  Golden  Cloud,"  said  Dan,  "  and  I 
dreamed  of  it  the  same  night.  At  other 
times,  my  dreaming  of  it  was  not  premedi- 
tated.    It  came  in  the  usual  way  of  dreams." 

"  ^Vhat  do  you  want  me  to  believe  from 
all  this,  Dan  V  " 

"  That,  as  the  author  of  that  book  says, 
you  can  dream  of  any  thing  you  wish.  I 
scarcely  dare  believe  that  I  shall  be  able  to 
dream  of  what  I  shall  most  desire,  by  and 
by.  By  and  by,  Jo,"  he  repeatedly  sadly, 
"when  you  and  me  are  parted." 

Joshua  threw  his  arms  around  Dan's 
neck. 

"  And  you  are  doing  all  this,  dear  Dan, 
because  you  want  to  dream  of  me  ?  " 

"  And  because  I  want  to  be  with  you,  Jo, 
and  to  see  things  that  you  see,  and  never, 
never  to  be  parted  fi-om  you."  The  wist- 
ful tears  ran  down  Dan's  cheek  as  he  said 
these  words. 

"  It  would  be  very  wonderful,"  said 
Joshua  ;  "  almost  too  wonderful.  And  I 
shall  think,  '  Dan  is  here  with  me,  although 
I  cannot  see  him.'  " 

"  Listen  again  to  what  he  says,  Jo,"  said 
Dan,  opening  the  "  Triumph  of  Mind  over 
Matter."  "  A  person  can  so  command  and 
control  his  mental  forces  as  to  train  him- 
self to  dream  of  events  that  are  actually  tak- 
ing place  at  a  distance  from  him,  at  the 
precise  moment  they  occur." 


"  And  that  is  what  you  want  to  do 
when  I  am  away,  Dan." 

"  That  is  what  I  want  to  do  when  yxju 
are  away,  dear  Jo." 

"  I  am  positive  you  can't  do  it." 

"Why?  I  dreamed  of  Golden  Cloud 
when  I  wanted  to." 

"I  can  understand  that.  But  how  did 
you  dream  of  Golden  Cloud,  Dan  ?  You 
dreamed  of  him  as  if  he  was  alive  " — 

"At  first  I  did;  but  afterwards  I  saw 
him  in  the  flower-pot,  dead." 

"  And  Golden  Cloud  chirruped  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jo." 

"  Think  again,  Dan.  Golden  Cloud 
was  dead,  and  Golden  Cloud  chirruped  to 
you !  " 

"  Yes,  Jo,"  faltered  Dan,  beginning  to 
understand  the  drift  of  Joshua's  remarks. 

"  That  is  not  dreaming  of  things  as  they 
are,  Dan,"  said  Joshua  gently,  taking  Dan's 
hand  and  patting  it.  "  If  you  could  dream 
of  Golden  Cloud  as  he  is  now,  you  would 
see  nothing  of  him  but  a  few  bones  —  feath- 
ers and  flesh  all  turned  to  clay.  Not  a 
chirrup  in  him,  Dan  dear,  not  a  chirrup  !  " 

Dan  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
and  the  tears  came  through  his  fingers. 
But  he  soon  recovered  himself. 

"  You  are  right,  Jo,"  he  said :  "  yet 
I'm  not  quite  wrong.  The  man  who  wrote 
that  book  knew  things,  depend  upon  it. 
He  was  not  a  fool.  /  was,  to  think  I  could 
do  such  wonders  in  so  short  a  time." 

Dan  showed,  in  the  last  sentence,  that  he 
did  not  intend  to  relinquish  his  desire.  He 
said  nothing  more  about  it,  however,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  pair  of  bullfinches 
were  on  the  table  in  a  little  cage,  whistling, 
"  Rule,  Britannia,"  the  high  notes  of  which 
one  of  the  birds  took  with  con-summate  ease. 


CHAPTER  V. 

JOSHUA   MAKES   UP   HIS   MIND   TO   GO    TO 
SEA. 

Who  was  the  Old  Sailor  ? 

Simply  an  old  sailor.  Having  been  a 
very  young  sailor  indeed  once  upon  a  time, 
a  great  many  years  ago  now,  when,  quite  a 
little  boy,  he  ran  away  from  home  and  went 
to  sea  out  of  sheer  love  for  blue  water.  In 
those  times  many  boys  did  just  the  same 
thinji,  but  that  kind  of  boyish  romance  has 
been  gradually  dying  away,  and  is  now  al- 
most dead.  Steam  has  washed  off  a  great 
deal  of  its  bright  coloring.  The  taste  of  the 
salt  spray  grew  so  sweet  to  the  young  sail- 
or's mouth,  and  the  sight  of  the  ocean  — 


JOSHUA  RESOLVES  TO  GO  TO   SEA. 


25 


the  waters  of  which  were  not  always  blue, 
as  he  had  imagined  —  grew  so  dear  to  his 
eyes,  that  every  thing  else  became  as  naught 
to  him.  And  so,  faithful  to  his  first  love, 
he  had  grown  from  a  young  sailor  to  an 
old  sailor.  At  the  present  tiuie  he  was  liv- 
ing in  a  rusty  coal-barge,  mooretl  near  the 
Tower  stairs;  and,  all  hough  he  could  see 
land  and  houses  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water,  there  was  a  curl  in  his  great  nos- 
trils as  if  he  were  smelling  the  sweet  salt 
spray  of  the  sea,  and  a  staring  look  in  his 
great  blue  eyes,  as  if  the  grand  ocean  were 
before  liim  instead  of  a  dirty  river.  He 
was  a  short  fliick-set  man,  and  his  face  was 
deeply  indented  with  small-pox;  indeed, 
so  marked  were  the  impressions  which  that 
disease  had  left  upon  him,  that  his  face 
looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  conglomera- 
tion of  miniature  salt-cellars.  His  name 
was  Praiseworthy  Meddler.  The  sea  was 
liis  world  —  the  land  was  of  no  importance 
whatever.  Not  only  was  the  land  of  no  im- 
portance in  his  eyes,  but  it  was  a  place  to 
be  despised,  and  the  people  who  inhabited 
it  were  an  inferior  race.  From  him  did 
Joshua  Marvel  learn  of  the  glories  and  the 
wonders  of  the  ocean,  and  from  him  came 
Joshua's  inspiration  to  be  a  sailor. 

For  Joshua  had  settled  upon  the  road 
which  was  to  lead  him  to  fame  and  fortune. 
By  the  time  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
what  was  to  be  his  future  walk  in  life,  most 
I  other  lads  in  the  parish  of  Stepney  of  the 
same  age  and  condition  as  himself  were  al- 
ready at  work  at  different  businesses,  and 
had  already  commenced  mounting  that  lad- 
der which  led  almost  always  to  an  average 
of  something  less  than  thirty-two  shillings  a 
week  for  the  natural  term  of  their  lives. 
Although,  up  to  this  period  of  his  life, 
Joshua's  career  had  been  a  profitless  one, 
as  far  as  earning  money  was  concerned,  his 
time  had  not  been  thrown  away.  The 
tastes  he  had  acquired  were  innocent  and 
good,  and  were  destined  to  bear  good  fruit 
in  the  future.  The  boyish  friendship  he 
had  formed  was  of  incalculable  value  to 
him ;  for  it  was  undoubtedly  due,  in  a 
great  measure,  to  that  association  that 
Joshua  was  kept  from  contact  with  bad 
companions.  He  had  not  yet  given  evi- 
dence of  the  {jossession  of  decided  char- 
acter, exce])t  what  might  be  gathered  from 
a  certain  quiet  determination  of  will  inher- 
ited from  his  mother,  but  stronger  in  him 
than  in  her  because  of  his  sex,  and  from 
a  certain  unswerving  atl'ection  for  any 
thing  he  loved.  A  phrenologist,  examining 
his  head,  would  probably  have  found  that 
the  organs  of  firmness  and  adhesiveness 
predonunated  over  all  his  other  tixculties  ; 
and  for  the  rest,  something  very  much  as 
follows.       (Let  it  be  understood  that  no 


attempt  is  here  being  made  to  give  a  per- 
fect analysis  of  Joshua's  faculties,  but  that 
mention  is  only  being  made  of  those  organs 
which  may  help  to  explain,  if  they  be  re- 
membered by  the  reader,  and  if  tliere  be 
any  truth  in  phrenology,  certain  circum- 
stances connected  witli  Joshua's  career, 
the  consequences  of  which  may  have  been 
varied  in  another  man.)  Well,  then,  ad- 
hesiveness and  firmness  very  large ;  the 
first  of  which  will  account  for  his  strong 
attachment  for  Uan,  and  the  second  fin-  his 
determination,  notwithstanding  his  mother's 
efforts,  not  to  take  to  wood-turning  nor  any 
other  trade,  but  to  start  in  life  for  him- 
self, luhabitiveness  very  small ;  and  us 
inhabitiveness  means  a  tendency  to  dwell 
in  one  place,  the  want  of  that  faculty  will 
account  for  his  desire  to  roam.  All  his 
moral  and  religious  faculties  —  such  as 
benevolence,  wonder,  veneration,  and  con- 
scientiousness—  were  large  ;  what  are  un- 
derstood as  the  semi-Intellectual  sentiments 
—  constructiveness,  imitation  and  mirth- 
fulness —  he  possessed  only  in  a  modei'ate 
degree ;  but  one,  ideality,  was  largely  de- 
veloped. Four  of  his  intellectual  faculties  — 
individuality,  language,  eventuality,  and 
time  —  call  for  especial  notice  :  they  were 
all  very  small,  the  smallest  of  them  being 
eventuality,  the  especial  function  of  which 
is  a  memory  of  events.  Mention  being 
made  that  his  organs  of  color  and  tune  were 
large,  this  brief  analysis  of  Joshua's  phreno- 
logical development  is  completed. 

For  the  purpose  of  fitting  himself  for  his 
future  career,  Joshua  hail  lately  spent  a 
great  deal  of  his  time  at  the  waterside,  and 
in  the  course  of  a  few  months'  experience 
in  boats  and  barges  on  the  River  Tiiames, 
had  made  himself  perfectly  familiar 
with  all  the  dangers  of  the  sea.  Praise- 
worthy Meddler  had  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  Joshua's  resolve.  His  attention  had 
been  directed  to  the  quiet  well-behaved 
lad,  who  came  down  so  often  to  the  water- 
side, and  who  sat  gazing,  with  unformed 
thoughts,  upon  the  river.  Not  upon  the 
other  side  of  it,  where  tumble-down  wharves 
and  melancholy  walls  were,  but  along  the 
course  of  it,  as  far  as  its  winding  form  would 
allow  him  to  do  so.  Then  his  imagination 
followed  the  river,  and  gave  it  pleasanter 
banks  and  broader,  until  he  could  scarcely 
see  any  banks  at  all,  so  wide  had  the  river 
"•rown  ;  then  he  followed  it  farther  still, 
until  it  merged  into  an  ocean  of  waters,  in 
which  were  crowded  all  the  wonders  he 
had  read  of  in  books  of  travel  and  adven- 
ture :  wastes  of  sea,  calm  and  grand  in  sun- 
light and  in  moonlight ;  fire  following  the 
shi{)  at  night,  fire  in  the  waters,  as  if  mil- 
lions of  fire-fish  had  rushed  up  from  the 
depths  to  oppose  the  wooden  monster  which 


26 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


ploughed  them  through ;  shoals  of  por- 
poises, sharks,  whales,  and  all  the  wondrous 
breathing  life  in  the  mighty  waters ;  curl- 
ing waves  lifting  up  the  ship,  which  after- 
wards glides  down  into  the  valleys  :  blood 
moons,  and  such  a  wealth  of  stars  in  the 
heavens,  and  such  feather-fringed  azure 
clouds  as  made  the  heart  beat  to  think  of 
them  ;  storms,  too  —  dark  waters  seething 
and  hissing,  thunder  awfully  pealing,  light- 
ning Hashes  cutting  the  heavens  open,  and 
darting  into  the  sea  and  cutting  that  with 
keen  blades  of  light,  then  all  dai-ker  than 
it  was  before  :  all  these  pictures  came  to 
Joshua's  mind  as,  with  eager  eyes  and 
clasped  hands,  he  sat  gazing  at  the  dirty 
river.  He  held  his  breath  as  the  storm- 
pictures  came,  but  there  was  no  terror  in 
them ;  bright  or  dark,  every  thing  he  saw 
was  tinged  with  the  romance  of  youthful  ima- 
gining. Praiseworthy  Meddler  spoke  first 
to  Joshua,  divined  his  wish,  encouraged  it, 
told  the  lad  stories  of  his  own  experience, 
and  told  them  with  such  heartiness  and  en- 
thusiasm, and  made  such  a  light  matter  of 
shipwreck  and  such  like  despondencies,  that 
Joshua's  aspirations  grew  and  grew  until 
he  could  no  longer  keep  them  to  himself 
And,  of  course,  to  whom  should  he  first 
unbosom  himself  in  plain  terms  but  to  his 
more  than  brother,  Dan  ? 

He  disclosed  his  intentions  in  this  man- 
ner :  he  was  playing  and  singing '  Tom  Bow- 
ling,' the  words  of  which  he  had  learned 
from  old  Praiseworthy.  He  sang  the  song 
through  to  the  end,  and  Dan  relocated  the 
last  two  lines,  — 

"  For  though  his  body's  under  hatches, 
His  soul  is  gone  aloft." 

"  My  body  has  been  under  hatches  to- 
day, Dan,"  said  Joshua,  "  althouixh  I  wasn't 
in  the  same  condition  as  poor  Tom  Bow- 
ling. I  dare  say,"  with  a  furtive  look  at 
Dan,  "  that  I  shall  often  be  under  hatches." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Dan.  He  knew  what  was 
coming. 

"  The  Old  Sailor  has  been  telling  me 
such  stories,  Dan  !  What  do  you  think  V 
He  was  taken  by  a  pirate-ship  once,  and 
served  with  them  lor  three  months." 

"  As  a  pirate  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  has  been  a  pirate.  Isn't  that 
glorious  ?  It  was  an  awtul  thing,  though ; 
the  ship  he  was  in  —  a  merchantman  — 
saw  the  ^^irate-sliip  giving  chase.  They 
tried  to  get  away,  but  the  pirates  had  a 
ship  twice  as  good  as  theirs,  and  soon  over- 
hauled them.  Then  the  grappling-irons 
were  thrown,  and  the  pirates  swarmed  into 
the  merchantman,  and  there  was  a  terrible 
fight.  Those  who  were  not  killed  were 
taken  on  board  the  pirate-ship,  the  Old 
Sailor  among  the  rest.     There  were  three 


women  with  them,  and  O  Dan  1  would  you 
believe  it? — those  devils,  the  pirates, 
killed  them  every  one,  men  and  women 
too,  and  threw  them  overboard  —  killed 
every  one  of  them  but  the  Old  Sailor." 

"  How  was  it  that  he  was  saved,  Jo  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  thing  he  never  could  make 
out,  he  says.  It  turned  him  sick  to  see  the 
pirates  slashing  away  with  their  cutlasses, 
but  when  they  came  to  the  women  he  was 
almost  mad.  He  was  bound  to  a  mast  by 
a  strong  rope,  and  when  he  saw  a  woman's 
face  turned  to  him  and  looking  at  him 
imploringly,  although  her  eyes  were  almost 
blinded  by  blood  "  — 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Dan  with  a  shudder,  as  if 
he  could  see  the  dreadful  picture. 

"  It  was  a  woman  who  had  had  a  kind 
word  for  every  one  on  the  merchant-ship  — 
a  lady  she  was,  and  everybody  loved  her," 
continued  Joshua,  with  kindling  eyes  and 
clinched  fists.  "When  the  Old  Sailor 
saw  her  looking  at  him,  he  gave  a  yell,  and 
actually  broke  the  rope  that  bound  him. 
But  a  dozen  pirates  had  him  down  on  the 
deck  the  next  moment.  He  fought  with 
them,  and  called  out  to  them,  '  Kill  me,  you 
devils  ! '  You  should  hear  the  Old  Sailor  tell 
the  story,  Dan  !  '  Kill  me,  you  devils  ! '  he 
cried  out,  and  he  grajjpled  with  them,  and 
hurt  some  of  them.  You  may  guess  that 
they  were  too  many  for  him.  They  bound 
him  in  such  a  zig-zag  of  ropes  —  round 
his  neck  and  legs  and  back  and  arms — ■ 
that  he  couldn't  move,  and  they  kicked 
him  into  a  corner.  There  he  lay,  with  his 
eyes  shut,  and  heard  the  shrieks  of  his 
poor  companions,  and  the  splashes  in  the 
water  as  their  bodies  were  thrown  over- 
board. After  that  there  was  a  great  si- 
lence. '  Now  it  is  my  turn,'  he  said  to 
himself,  and  he  bit  his  tongue,  so  that  he 
should  not  scream  out.  But  it  wasn't  his 
turn  ;  some  of  the  pirates  came  about  him, 
and  talked  in  a  lingo  he  couldn't  under- 
stand, and  when  he  thought  they  were  go- 
ing to  slash  at  him,  they  Avent  away,  and 
leit  him  lying  on  the  deck  alive  !  He  lay 
there  all  night,  dozing  now  and  then,  and, 
waking  up  in  awful  fright;  for  every  time 
he  dozed,  he  fancied  that  he  heard  the 
screams  of  the  poor  people  who  had  been 
killed,  and  that  he  saw  the  bloody  face  of 
the  poor  lady  he  had  tried  to  save.  They 
didn't  give  him  any  thing  to  eat  or  drink 
all  night ;  all  they  gave  him  was  kicks. 
'  Then,'  said  the  Old  Sailor,  '  they're  go- 
ing to  starve  me ! '  If  he  could  have 
moved,  he  would  have  thrown  himself  into 
the  sea,  but  he  was  too  securely  tied. 
Well,  in  the  morning,  the  captain,  who 
could  speak  a  little  English,  came  and  or- 
dered that  the  ropes  should  be  loosened. 
'  Now's  my  time,'  said  the  Old  Sailor,  and 


JOSHUA  RESOLVES  TO  GO  TO 


he  felt  quite  glad,  Dan,  lie  says  ;  and  he 
says,  too,  that  he  felt  as  if  he  could  have 
died  happy  if  they  had  given  him  a  chew 
of  tobacco.  '  Open  your  eyes,  pig  of  an 
Englishman  1 '  cried  the  captain,  for  the 
Old  Sailor  kept  his  eyes  shut  all  the  time. 
'  I  sha'n't,  pig  of  the  devil ! '  roai'cd  the 
Old  Sailor ;  but,  without  meaning  it,  he 
did  open  his  eyes.  '  Look  here,  pig,'  said 
tlie  captain,  '  you  are  a  strong  man,  and 
you  ouglit  to  be  a  good  sailor.'  '  I'd  show 
you  what  sort  of  a  sailor  I  am,  if  you 
would  cut  these  infernal '  "  — 

"  O  Jo  !  "  said  Dan,  with  a  warning 
finger  to  his  lips. 

"  Tliat  is  what  the  Old  Sailor  said,  Dan," 
continued  Jo?hua.  "  '  I'd  show  you  what 
sort  of  a  sailor  I  am,  if  you  would  cut 
these  —  you  know  what  —  ropes,  and  give 
me  a  cutlass  or  a  marlin-spike  ! '  But  the 
captain  only  Laughed  at  him ;  and  said, 
'  Now,  pig,  listen.  You  will  either  do  one 
of  two  things.  You  Avill  either  be  one  of 
us' —  'Turn  pirate  I'  cried  the  Old 
Sailor ;  '  no,  I'll  be  —  you  know  what,  Dan 
—  if  I  do ! '  '  Very  well,  pig,'  said  the 
captain  ;  '  refuse,  and  you  shall  be  cut  to 
pieces,  finger  by  finger,  and  every  limb  of 
you.  I  give  you  an  hour,  pig,  to  think  of 
it.'  The  Old  Sailor  says  that,  if  he  had 
had  a  bit  of  tobacco,  he  would  have  chosen 
to  be  killed,  even  in  that  dreadful  manner, 
rather  than  consent  to  join  them.  He 
never  in  all  his  life  longed  so  tor  a  thing 
as  he  longed  then  for  a  quid,  as  he  calls  it. 
It  made  Iiim  mad  to  see  the  dark  devils 
chewing  their  tobacco  as  they  worked. 
'  Anyhow,'  he  thought,  '  I  may  as  well  live 
as  be  killed.  I  shall  get  a  chance  of  escape 
one  day.'  So  when  the  hour  was  up,  and 
the  captain  came,  the  Old  Sailor  told  him 
that  he  would  oblige  them  by  not  being 
chopped  into  mince-meat,  if  they  would 
give  him  a  chew  of  tobacco.  They  gave 
it  to  him,  and  unbound  him ;  and  that  is 
the  way  he  became  a  pirate." 

"  And  how  did  he  get  away,  Jo  ?  "  asked 
Dan. 

"  That  is  wonderful,  too,"  continfied 
Joshua.  "  He  was  with  them  for  three 
months,  and  saw  stran-^e  things  and  bad 
things,  but  never  took  part. in  them.  They 
tried  to  tbrce  him  to  do  as  they  did,  but  he 
wouldn't.  And  he  made  himself  so  useful 
to  them,  and  worked  so  hard,  that  it  wasn't 
to  their  interest  to  get  rid  of  him." 

"  I  think  the  Old  Sailor  must  be  a  little 
bit  of  a  hero,  Jo,"  interrupted  Dan. 

Joshua  laughed  heartily  at  this.  "  You 
■will  not  say  so  when  you  see  him." 

"  AVhy  ?     I  suppose  he  is  uglj'." 

Joshua  raised  his  hand  expressively. 

"  And  weather-beaten,  and  all  that  "  — 

"  And  knows,"  said  Joshua,  still  laugh- 


V 

lich  is  ttVR 


•'tf " 


27 


ing,  "  '  Which  is  t^,  jfr^pcrest  day  to  drink, 
Saturday,  Sundav.  ^^)nll,^y  ?  '  " 

''  Still  he  may  \n;  .i  h«io — not  like  you,^' 
Jo,  because  you  will  Ije  handsome." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  " 

If  by  some  strange  chance  a  picture  of 
Joshua,  as  he  Avas  to  be  one  day,  had  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  lads,  how  they  would 
have  wondered  and  marvelled  as  to  what 
could  have  been  the  youth  of  such  a  man 
as  they  saw  before  them  1  Look  at  Joshua 
now,  as  he  is  sitting  by  Dan's  side.  A 
handsome  open-faced  lad,  full  of  kindly- 
feeling,  and  with  the  retlex  of  a  generous 
loving  nature  beaming  in  his  eyes.  Honest 
face,  bright  eyes,  laughing  mouth  that  could 
be  serious,  strong  limbs,  head  covered  with 
curls  —  a  beautiful  picture  of  happy  boy- 
hood. But  no  more  surprising  miracle  could 
have  occurred  to  Dan  than  to  see  Joshua, 
as  he  saw  him  then,  sitting  by  his  side,  and 
then  to  see  the  shadow  of  what  was  to  come. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  and  Joshua  laugh- 
ingly re]:)eated  the  question. 

"  Do  I  think  so  "  said  Dan,  gazing  with 
pride  at  his  friend.  "  O  Mr.  Vanity  !  as 
it"  you  didn't  know  I  " 

Joshua,  laughing  more  than  ever,  pro- 
tested that  he  had  never  given  it  a  thought, 
and  promised  that  he  woukl  take  a  good 
long  look  at  himself  in  the  glass  that  very 
night.  At  the  rate  the  lads  were  going  on, 
it  appeared  as  if  the  Old  Sailor's  story 
would  never  be  completed,  and  so  Daniel 
said,  to  put  a  stop  to  Joshua's  nonsense. 

"  It  is  all  your  fault,  Dan,"  said  Joshua, 
"  because  you  icill  interrupt.  Well,  when 
the  Old  Sailor  had  been  in  the  ship  for 
three  months,  it  was  attacked  by  a  cruiser 
which  had  been  hunting  it  down  for  a  long 
time.  All  the  pirates  were  taken  —  the  Old 
Sailor  and  all  —  and  sold  asslaves  at  Algiers. 
They  wouldn't  believe  his  story  about  his 
not  being  a  pirate,  and  he  was  sold  for  a 
slave  Avith  the  rest  of  them.  He  worked  in 
chains  in  the  fields  for  a  good  many  weeks 
—  he  doesn't  remember  how  many  —  until 
Lord  Exmouth  bombarded  the  forts,  and 
put  a  stop  to  Christian  slavery.  And  that 
is  the  Old  Sailor's  pirate-story." 

"  And  now  to  return  to  what  we  were 
saying  before  you  commenced,"  said  Dan. 
Joshua  placed  his  hands  at  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  interlacing  his  fingers,  looked 
seriously  at  Dan,  and  drew  a  long  breath : 
"  You  have  something  to  tell  me,  Jo." 

"  I  have,"  said  Joshua.  '•  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  what  I  am  going  to  be.  You 
can  guess  if  you  like." 

"  1  have  no  need  to  guess,  Jo,  dear ;  I 
know,  I  have  seen  it  all  along." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  to  sea,"  said  Dan,  striv- 
ing to  speak  in  a  cheerful  voice,  but  failing. 


28 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


"  Yes,  I  shall  go  to  sea ; "  and  Joshua 
drew  another  long  breath.  "  How  did  you 
find  it  out,  Dan  the  Wise  ?  " 

"  How  did  I  find  it  out,  Jo  the  Simple  ? 
Haven't  I  seen  it  in  your  eyes  for  ever  so 
long?  Haven't  you  been  telling  me  so 
every  day  ?  It  might  escape  others'  notice, 
but  not  mine." 

"  I  told  the  Old  Sailor  to-day,  and  he 
clapped  me  on  the  back,  and  said  I  was  a 
brave  fellow.  But  he  knew  it  all  along, 
too,  he  said.  And  he  took  me  into  his  cabin 
—  such  a  cabin,  Dan —  and  poured  out  a 
tiny  glass  of  rum,  and  made  me  drink  it. 
My  throat  was  on  fire  for  an  hour  after- 
wards." 

"  Have  vou  told  mother  and  father  ?  " 

"  No. "  ' 

"  Tell  them  at  once,  Jo.  Go  home  now, 
and  tell  them.  I  want  to  be  left  alone  to 
think  of  it.  O  Jo  1  and  I  am  going  to  lose 
you ! " 

Dan  had  tried  hard  to  control  himself,  but 
he  now  burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping ; 
and  it  is  a  fact,  notwithstanding  that  they 
wei-e  both  big  boys,  that  their  heads  the 
next  moment  were  so  close  together  that 
Dan's  tears  rolled  down  both  their  faces. 
Joshua's  heart  was  as  full  as  Dan's,  and  lie 
ran  out  of  the  room  more  to  lessen  Dan's 
grief  than  his  own. 

Thus  it  fell  out  that  in  the  evening,  when 
the  members  of  the  Marvel  family,  variously 
occupied,  were  sitting  at  the  kitchen  fire, 
Joshua  said  suddenly  to  his  relatives, — 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  sea.  " 

Geoi'ge  Marvel  was  smoking  a  long  clay- 
pipe  ;  Mrs.  Marvel  was  darning  a  pair  of 
worsted  stockings,  in  which  scarcely  a  ves- 
tige of  their  original  structure  was  left  ; 
and  Sarah  Marvel  was  busily  engaged  in  a 
writing-lesson,  in  the  execution  of  which 
she  was  materially  assisted  by  her  tongue, 
Avhicli,  hanging  its  full  length  out  of  her 
mouth,  was  making  occasional  excursions 
to  the  corners  of  her  lips.  George  Marvel 
took  the  pipe  from  his  lips  and  looked  at 
the  fire  meditatively  ;  Mrs.  JNIarvel  burst 
into  tears,  and  let  the  worsted  stocking,  with 
the  needle  sticking  in  it,  drop  into  her  laj) ; 
and  Sarah  Marvel,  casting  a  doubtful  look 
at  her  writing-lesson,  every  letter  in  which 
appeared  to  be  possessed  with  a  peculiar 
species  of  drunkenness,  removed  her  eyes 
to  her  brother's  fiice,  upon  which  she  gazed 
with  wonder  and  admiration.  So  engrossed 
was  she  in  the  contemplation,  that  she  put 
the  inky  part  of  the  pen  into  her  month, 
and  sucked  at  it  in  sheer  absence  of  mind. 

"  Don't  cry,  mother,"  said  George  Mar- 
vel.    "  What  was  that  you  said,  Josh  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  sea,  father." 

"  Ah  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Marvel  thought- 
fully, looking  steadily  into  the  fire. 


Joshua  was  also  looking  into  the  fire,  and 
he  saw  in  it,  as  plain  as  plain  could  be,  a 
fiery  ship,  full-rigged,  with  fiery  ropes  and 
fiery  sails,  and  saw  himself,  Joshua  Marvel, 
standing  on  the  poop,  dressed  in  gold-laced 
coat  and  gold-laced  cocked-hat,  with  a  tel- 
escope in  his  hand.  For  Joshua,  without 
the  slightest  idea  as  to  how  it  was  all  to 
come  about,  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
was  to  be  a  captain,  dressed  as  Nelson  was 
in  a  picture  which  was  one  of  Praiseworthy 
Meddler's  prize  possessions,  and  which  oc- 
cupied the  place  of  honor  in  the  Old  Sailor's 
cabin.  While  this  vision  was  before  Joshua 
Mrs.  Marvel  continued  to  cry,  but  in  a  more 
subdued  manner. 

"  And  so  you  want  to  be  sailor,  Josh  ?  " 
queried  Mr.  Marvel. 

"  Yes.  A  sailor  first,  and  then  a  cap- 
tain." 

The   intermediate   grades  were   of  too 
small  importance  to  be  considered. 

"  I  am  sure.  Josh,"  said  Mrs.  Marvel, 
crying  all  the  while,  "  I  don't  see  Avhat 
you  want  to  go  away  for.  Why  don't 
you  make  up  your  mind  even  now  to  aj> 
prentice  yourself  to  father's  trade  and  be 
contented  ?  You  might  get  a  little  shop  of 
your  own  in  time,  if  you  worked  very  hard, 
and  it  would  be  pleasant  for  all  of  us." 

"  You  be  quiet,  mother,"  said  Mr.  Mar- 
vel. "  What  do  women  know  about  these 
things  ?     I'm  Joshua's  father,  I  believe  " — 

"  Yes,  George,  I  believe  you  are,"  sobbed 
Mrs.  Marvel. 

"And,  as  Joshua's  father,  I  tell  you  again, 
once  and  for  all,  that  he's  not  going  to  be 
a  wood-turner.  Here's  the  old  subject  come 
up  again  with  a  veusjeance  !  I  wish  a  wo- 
man's clothes  were  like  a  woman's  ideas; 
then  they  would  never  wear  out.  A  wood- 
turner !  A  pretty  thing  a  wood-turner  is ! 
I've  been  a  wood-turner  all  my  life,  and  what 
better  off  am  I  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure,  father,  we  have  been  very 
happy,'  said  Mrs.  Marvel. 

"  I  am  not  saying  any  thing  about  that," 
observed  Mr.  Marvel,  expressing  in  his 
voice  a  very  small  regard  for  domestic  hap- 
piness, although,  in  reality,  no  man  bet- 
ter appreciated  it.  "  What  I  say  is,  I've 
been  a  wood-turner  all  my  life  ;  and  what 
I  ask  is,  what  better  off  am  I,  or  you,  or 
any  of  us,  for  it  ?  If  Josh  likes  to  be  a 
wood-turner,  he  can  ;  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  it,  except  that  he's  been  a  precious 
long  time  making  up  his  mind.  And 
if  he  likes  to  be  a  sailor,  he  can  ;  I  have 
nothing  to  say  against  that.  I'm  Joshua's 
father,  and,  as  Joshua's  tiather,  I  say  if 
Josh  likes  to  make  a  start  in  life  for  him- 
self as  a  sailor,  let  him.  If  I  was  Josh,  I 
would  do  the  same  myself." 

"  Thank    you,    father,"    said    Joshua. 


JOSHUA  RESOLVES  TO   GO  TO   SEA. 


29 


"  And,  mother,  if  you  only  heard  what  Mr. 
Praiseworthy  Meddler  says  of  the  sea,  you 
would  think  very  ditlereutly ;  I  know  you 
would." 

But  JNIrs.  INIarvel  shook  her  head  and 
would  not  be  comibrted. 

"  My  father  was  a  wood-turner,"  said  Mr. 
JMarvel,  "  and  he  made  uie  a  wood-turner. 
He  never  asked  me  whether  I  would  or 
I  woukln't,  and  I  didn't  have  a  choiee. 
If  he  had  have  asked  me,  perhaps  we 
shouldn't  have  gone  on  pinclun;^  and  pinch- 
in^f  all  our  lives.  Now  Joshua's  ditierent ; 
he's  got  his  choice  :  never  forget,  Josh,  that 
it  was  your  father  who  gave  you  the  world 
to  pick  li'om  —  and  I  think  he's  acting 
sensibly,  as  I  should  have  done  if  7»y  father 
had  given  me  the  chance.  But  he  didn't, 
and  it's  too  late  for  a  man  with  his  head 
full  of  white  hairs  to  commence  life  all 
over  again." 

And  Mr.  Marvel  fell  to  smoking  his  pipe 
again,  and  studying  the  fire. 

"  I've  never  seen  the  sea  myself,"  he 
presently  resumed;  "but  I've  read  of  it, 
and  heard  talk  of  it.  There  are  better 
lands  across  the  seas  than  Stepney,  for  a 
youngster  like  Josh.  There  are  lots  of 
chances,  too;  and  who  knows  what  may 
happen  ?  " 

"  That's  where  it  is,  father,"  whimpered 
Mrs.  Marvel ;  ''  we  don't  know  what  might 
happen.  Suppose  Josh  is  shipwrecked ; 
what  would  you  say  then  ?  You'd  lie 
awake  night  after  night,  father  —  you  know 
you  would  —  and  wish  he  had  been  a  wood- 
turner. I'oe  never  seen  the  sea,  and  I 
never  want  to  ;  I've  been  happy  enough 
without  it.  It's  like  flying  in  the  lace  of 
Providence.  And  what's  to  become  of  us 
when  we  are  old,  if  Josh  can't  take  care 
of  us  ?  " 

"  Just  so,  mother.  Listen  to  me,  and  be 
sensible.  Suppose  Josh  becomes  a  wood- 
turner ;  he  can't  expect  to  do  better  than 
his  father  has  done.  I  am  not  a  bad  work- 
man myself;  and  though  Josh  might  make 
as  good,  I  don't  think  he'd  make  a  better. 
Now  what  I  say  again  is  —  and  it's  won- 
derful what  a  many  times  a  man  has  to  say 
a  thing  before  he  can  drive  it  into  a  wo- 
man's head,  if  she  ain't  willing  —  although 
I'm  a  good  workman,  what  better  oft"  am  I 
for  it?  And  what  better  off"  would  Josh 
be  for  it,  when  he  gets  to  be  as  old  as  I 
am  V  We've  commenced  to  lay  by  a  good 
many  times  —  haven't  we,  Maggie?  —  but 
we  never  could  keep  on  with  it.  First  a 
bit  of  sickness  took  it ;  then  a  bit  of  furniture 
that  we  couldn't  do  without  took  it ;  then 
a  rise  in  bread  and  meat  took  it ;  and  then 
a  bit  of  something  else  took  it.  You've 
been  a  good  woman  to  me,  Maggie,  and 
you've  pinched  all  you  could  for  twenty 


years;  and  what  has  come  of  all  your 
pinching?  There's  that  old  teapot  you 
used  to  lay  by  in.  It's  at  tiie  back  of  the 
cupboard  now,  and  it  hasn't  iiad  a  shilling 
in  it  lor  I  don't  know  when's  the  time. 
It  would  be  full  of  dust,  mother,  only  you 
don't  like  dust ;  and  a  good  job  too.  But 
it  ain't  your  fault  that  it  isn't  full  of  some- 
thing better;  and  it  ain't  my  fault.  It's 
all  because  I've  been  a  wood-turner  all  my 
days.  And  the  ujishot  of  it  is,  that  we're 
not  a  bit  better  off  now  than  we  were 
twenty  years  ago.  We're  worse  off;  for 
we've  spent  twenty  good  years  and  got 
nothing  for  them." 

"  We've  got  Josh  and  Sarah,"  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel ventured  to  say.  The  simple  woman 
actually  regarded  those  possessions  as  of 
inestimable  value  —  but  that  is  the  way  of 
a  great  many  foolish  mothers. 

Her  husband  did  not  heed  the  remark. 
He  took  another  pull  at  his  pipe,  but  drew 
no  smoke  from  it.  His  pipe  was  out ;  but 
in  his  earnestness  he  puS'ed  away  at  nothing, 
and  continued,  — 

"  Who  is  to  take  care  of  us,  you  want  to 
know,  when  we  grow  old,  if  Josh  don't. 
When  Josh  grows  up,  Josh  will  get  mar- 
ried, naturally." 

"  So  shall  I,  father,"  interrupted  Sarah, 
who  was  listening  with  the  deepest  interest 
to  the  conversation. 

"  Perhaps,  Sarah,"  said  Mr.  Marvel  a 
little  dubiously.  "  Girls  ain't  like  boys  ; 
they  can't  pick  and  choose.  Josh  will  get 
married,  naturally ;  and  Josh  will  have 
children,  naturally.  Perhaps  he'll  have 
two  ;  perhaps  he'll  have  six." 

"  Mrs.  Pigeon's  got  thirteen,"  remarked 
Sarah  vivaciously. 

"  Be  quiet,  Sarah.  "Wliere  did  you  learn 
manners  ?  Now  if  Josh  has  six  children, 
and,  being  a  wood-turner,  doesn't  do  any 
better  as  a  wood-turner  than  his  father  has 
done  —  and  he's  a  presumptuous  young 
beggar  if  he  thinks  he's  going  to  do  better 
than  me  "  — 

"  I  don't  think  so,  father,"  said  Joshua. 

"  Never  mind.  And  he's  a  presumptuous 
young  beggar  if  he  thinks  he's  going  to  do 
better  than  me,"  Mr.  Marvel  repeated  ;  he 
relished  the  roll  of  the  words  —  "  what's  to 
become  of  us  then  ?  Josh,  if  he's  a  wood- 
turner with  six  children,  can't  be  expected 
to  keep  his  old  father  and  mother.  He 
will  have  enough  to  do  as  it  is.  But  if 
Josh  strikes  out  for  himself,  who  knows 
what  may  happen  ?  He  may  do  this,  or  he 
may  do  that ;  and  then  we  shall  be  all 
right." 

There  was  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt 
that  in  that  house  the  gray  mare  was  the 
worse  horse,  in  defiance  of  the  old  adage. 

"  And  as  to  Joshua's  being  shipwrecked," 


30 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


continued  Mr.  Marvel,  "  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do,  mother,  that  it  would  be  enough  to 
break  my  heart.  But  I  don't  believe  there's 
more  danger  on  the  sea  than  on  the  land. 
There  was  Bill  Brackett  run  over  yester- 
day by  a  brewer's  dray,  and  three  of  his 
ribs  broken.  You  don't  get  run  over  by  a 
brewer's  dray  at  sea.  And  what  occurred 
to  William  Small  a  month  ago  ?  He  was 
walking  along  as  quiet  and  inoffensive  as 
could  be,  when  a  brick  from  a  scaffold  fell 
upon  his  head,  and  knocked  every  bit  of 
sense  clean  out  of  hira.  They  don't  build 
brick  houses  on  the  sea.  Why,  it  might 
have  happened  to  me,  or  you,  or  Josh  !  " 

"  Or  me,  father,"  cried  Sarah,  not  at  all 
pleased  at  being  deprived  of  the  chance  of 
being  knocked  on  the  head  by  a  brick. 

"  Or  you,  Sarah.  So,  mother,  don't  let 
us  have  any  more  talk  about  shipwrecks." 

"  But  if  Josh  does  get  shipwrecked, 
father,"  persisted  Mrs.  Marvel,  "  remember 
that  I  warned  you  beforehand." 

"  But  Josh  is  not  going  to  get  ship- 
wrecked," exclaimed  Mr.  Marvel,  slightly 
raising  his  voice,  determined  not  to  tolerate 
domestic  insubordination ;  "  therefore,  hold 
your  tongue,  and  say  nothing  more  about 
it." 

There  was  one  privilege  for  the  possession 
of  which  Mr.  Marvel,  had  fought  many  a 
hard  battle  in  the  early  days  of  his  married 
life,  and  which  he  now  believed  he  possessed 
by  right  of  conquest ;  that  was  the  privilege 
of  having  the  last  word.  To  all  outward 
appearance  Mrs.  Marvel  respected  this 
privilege;  but  in  reality  she  set  it  at  de- 
fiance. It  was  a  deceptive  victory  that  he 
had  gained  ;  for  if  he  had  the  last  audible 
word,  Mrs.  Marvel  had  the  last  inaudible 
one.  Woman  is  a  long-suffering  creature ; 
she  endures  much  with  patience  and  resigna- 
tion ;  but  to  yield  the  last  word  to  a  man  is 
a  sacrifice  too  great  for  her  to  make.  There 
are,  no  doubt,  instances  of  such  sacrifice ; 
but  they  are  very  rare.  Many  precious 
oblations  had  Mrs.  Marvel  made  in  the 
course  of  her  maiTied  life  ;  but  she  had  not 
sacrificed  the  last  word  upon  the  domestic 
altar.  True,  it  was  always  whispered  inly, 
under  her  breath;  but  it  was  hers  never- 
theless,; and  she  exulted  in  it.  When  a 
woman  cannot  get  what  she  wants  by  hook, 
she  gets  it  by  crook,  depend  upon  it.  For 
twenty  years  had  the  Marvels  lived  to- 
gether man  and  wife ;  and  during  all  that 
time  Mr.  Marvel  had  never  known,  that  in 
every  tamily  conversation  and  discussion 
his  wife  had  invariably  obtained  the  victory 
of  the  last  word ;  although  sometimes  a 
half-triumphant  look  in  her  eyes  had  caused 
him  to  doubt. 

So,  upon  this  occasion,  notwithstanding 
the  decided  tone  in  which  her  husband  had 


closed  the  conversation,  Mrs.  Marvel  bent 
her  head  over  her  worsted  stocking,  and 
whispered  to  herself,  half  tearfully  and  half 
triumphantly,  — 

"  But  if  Josh  does  get  shipwrecked,  father, 
don't  forget  that  I  warned  you  beforehand." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   ACTOR   AND   HIS   DAUGHTER. 

That  night,  as  Joshua  was  lying  half- 
awake  and  half-asleep,  his  mind  being  filled 
with  pleasant  sea-pictures,  he  was  siur- 
prised  to  hear  his  bedroom-door  creak. 
Without  moving  in  his  bed,  he  turn(^d  his 
eyes  towards  the  door,  and,  in  the  indistinct 
light,  he  saw  his  mother  enter  the  room. 
She  opened  the  door  very  softly,  as  if  fear- 
ful of  disturbing  him,  and  she  jiaused  for  a 
moment  or  two  in  the  open  space,  with  her 
hand  raised  in  a  listening  attitude.  Joshua 
saw  that  she  beUeved  him  to  be  asleep, 
and  he  closed  his  eyes  as  she  approached 
the  bed.  Her  movements  were  so  quiet, 
that  he  did  not  know  she  was  close  to  him, 
until  she  gently  took  his  hand  and  placed 
it  to  her  lips.  Then  he  knew  that  she  was 
kneeling  by  his  bedside,  and  knew  also,  by 
a  moisture  on  his  hand,  that  she  was  crying. 
His  heart  j^earned  to  her,  but  he  did  not 
move.  He  heard  her  whisper,  "  God  pro- 
tect you,  my  son !  "  Then  his  hand,  wet 
with  his  mother's  tears,  was  released,  and 
when  he  re-opened  his  eyes,  she  was  gone. 

"  Poor  mother !  "  he  thought.  "  She  is 
unhappy  because  I  am  going  to  sea.  I  will 
ask  the  Old  Sailor  to  come  and  tell  her 
what  a  glorious  thing  the  sea  is.  Perhaps 
that  will  make  her  more  comfortable  in  her 
mind." 

He  acted  upon  his  resolution  the  very 
next  day,  and  his  efforts  were  successful. 
In  the  evening,  he  wended  his  way  home- 
wards li-oin  the  waterside,  in  a  state  of 
ineffable  satisfaction  because  the  Old 
Sailor  had  promised  to  come  to  Stepney, 
for  the  express  purpose  of  proving  to  Mrs. 
Marvel  how  superior  in  every  respect  the 
sea  was  to  the  land,  and  what  a  wise  thing 
Joshua  had  done  in  making  up  his  mind  to 
be  a  sailor. 

The  lad  was  in  an  idle  happy  humor  as 
he  walked  down  a  narrow  street,  at  no 
great  distance  from  his  home.  It  differed 
in  no  respect  from  the  other  commo"  streets 
in  the  common  neighborhood.  All  iti 
characteristics  were  familiar  to  him.  The 
sad-looking  one-story  brick  houses ;  tlie 
slatternly  girls  nursing  babies,  whose  name 


THE  ACTOR  AND   HIS   DAUGHTER 


31 


was  legion  ;  the  troops  of  children  of  vari- 
ous ages  and  in  various  stages  of  dirtiness, 
one  of  their  most  distingui^hing  insignia 
being  the  ^-awning  condition  of  their  boots, 
tliere  not  being  a  sound  boot-lace  among 
the  lot  of  them ;  and  here  and  there  tiie 
melancholy  and  desponding  shops  wliere 
sweet  stuff  and  cheap  provisions  were  sold. 
Joshua  walked  down  this  poor  woe-begone 
street,  making  it  bright  with  his  bright 
flmcies,  when  his  attention  was  suddenly 
aroused  by  the  occurrence  of  something 
unusual  near  the  bottom  of  the  street. 

A  large  crowd  of  boys  and  girls  and 
women  was  gathered  around  a  person, 
who  was  gesticulating  and  declaiming  with 
startling  earnestness.  Pushing  his  way 
thi'ough  the  throng,  Joshua  saw  before  him 
a  tall,  spare  man,  with  light  hair  hanging 
down  to  his  shoulders.  So  long  and  wav- 
ing was  his  hair,  that  it  might  have  be- 
longed to  a  woman.  His  gaunt  and  fur- 
rowed face  was  as  sniooth  as  a  woman's, 
and  his  mouth  was  large,  as  were  also  his 
teeth,  which  were  peculiarly  white  and 
strong.  But  what  most  arrested  attention 
were  his  eyes ;  they  were  of  a  light-gray 
color,  large  even  for  his  large  fice,  and 
they  had  a  wandering  look  in  them  strange- 
ly at  variance  with  the  sense  of  power  and 
firmness  that  dwelt  in  every  other  feature. 
He  was  acting  the  Ghost  scenes  in  "  Ham- 
let ;  "  in  his  hand  was  a  wooden  sword,  which 
he  sheathed  in  his  ragged  coat,  and  drew  and 
flourished  when  occasion  needed.  His  fine 
voice,  now  deep  as  a  man's,  now  tender  as 
a  woman's,  expressed  all  the  passions,  and 
expressed  them  well.  In  the  library  which 
Dan  and  Joshua  possessed  there  was  an 
odd  volume  of  Shakspeare's  works,  and 
when  the  street-actor  said,  in  a  melancholy 
dreamy  tone,  — 

"  It  waves  me  still :  —  go  on,  I'll  follow  thee," 

Joshua  remembered  (as  much  from  the  in- 
telligent action  of  the  actor  as  Irom  the 
words  themselves)  that  it  was  a  Ghost 
whom  Hamlet  was  addressing.  The  words 
were  so  impressively  spoken,  that  Joshua 
almost  fancied  he  saw  a  Shade  before  the 
man's  uplitted  hand.  Then,  when  Hamlet 
cried,  — 

"  My  fate  cries  out. 
And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
A^  hardy  as  the  Xcraean  lion's  nerve. 
Still  am  I  called.     Unhand  me,  gentlemen  I  " 

(strugeling  with  his  visionary  opponents 
and  breaking  from  them,  and  drawing  his 
wooden  sword) 

"  By  heaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets  me  I 
I  say,  away !     Go  on,  I'll  follow  thee ; '' 

Joshua  experienced  a  thrill  of  emotion  that 


only  the  representation  of  true  passion  could 
have  excited.  As  the  man  uttered  the  last 
words,  Joshua  heard  a  shuddeiing  sigh  close 
to  him.  Turning  his  head,  he  saw  Susan, 
whose  face  was  a  perfect  encyclopedia  of 
wondering  and  terrified  admiration. 

"  Who  is  he  ibllowing,  Joshua  ? "  she 
asked  in  a  whisper,  clutching  him  by  the 

"  The  Ghost !     Hush !  " 

"  The  Ghost ! "  (with  a  violent  shudder.) 
"  Where  ?  " 

Joshua  pressed  her  hand,  and  warned 
her  to  be  silent,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
man.  Susan  held  his  hand  tightly  in  hers, 
and  obeyed. 

The  Ghost  that  the  actor  saw  in  his 
mind's  eye  was  standing  behind  Susan. 
The  man  advanced  a  step  in  that  direction, 
and  stood  with  outstretched  sword,  gazinc' 
at  the  airy  nothing.  Susan  trembled  in 
every  limb  as  the  man  glared  over  her 
shoulder,  and  she  was  frightened  to  move 
her  head,  lest  she  should  see  the  awful 
vision  whose  presence  was  palpable  to  her 
senses.  The  man  had  commenced  the  plat- 
form-scene, where  Hamlet  says.  "  Speak ; 
I'll  go  no  further ;  "  and  the  Ghost  says, 
"  Mark  me  I  "  when  a  tumult  took  place. 
At  the  words,  "  Mark  me  1 "  a  vicious  boy 
picked  up  a  piece  of  mud,  and  threw  it  at 
the  man's  face,  with  the  words,  "  Now  you're 
marked ;  "  at  which  several  of  the  boys  and 
gu-ls  laughed  and  clapped  their  hands.  The 
actor  made  no  answer,  but,  seizing  the  boy 
by  the  shoulder  held  him  fast  and  proceeded 
with  the  scene.  The  boy  tried  to  wriggle 
himself  away,  but  at  every  fresh  attempt 
the  man's  grasp  tightened,  until,  thoroughly 
desperate,  the  boy  broke  into  open  rebellion. 

Actor.  Thus  was  I,  sleeping,  by  a  brother's  hand 
Of  life,  of  crown,  of  queen,  at  once  despatched. 

Boy  (struggling  violently).  Just  you  let 
me  go,  will  you  ? 

Actor.  Cut  off  even  m  the  blossoms  of  my  sin, 
Unhousel'd,  disappointed,  unaneal'd. 

Boy  (beginning  to  cry).  Come  now,  let 
me  go  will  you  ?  You're  a  htu-ting  of  me ! 
Let  me  go  you  —  (bad  words). 

Actor  {calm  and  indifferent).  Xo  reckoning  made, 
but  sent  to  my  account 
With  all  my  imperfections  on  my  head. 

A  girl's  voice.     Pinch  him,  Billy ! 

A  boy's  voice.     Kick  him,  Billy  ! 

Billy  did  both,  but  the  actor  continued. 

Actor.  Oh,  horrible  I  Oh,  horrible  I  Most  horrible 

Billy.  Throw  a  stone  at  him,  some  one  I 

Actor   {sublimely    unconscious).      If  thou  haat 
nature  in  tho«,  bear  it  not. 


32 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


A  stone  was  thrown ;  and  as  if  this  were 
a  signal  for  a  general  attack,  a  shower  of 
stones  was  hurled  at  the  actor.  One  of 
them  hit  him  on  the  forehead ;  hit  him  so 
badly  that  he  staggered,  and,  releasing  his 
hold  of  Billy,  raised  his  hand  to  his  head, 
while  an  expression  of  pain  passed  into  his 
face.  Hooting  and  yelling,  "  Look  at  the 
mad  actor !  "  "  Hoo,  hoo  !  look  at  the 
crazy  fool !  " — the  crowd  of  boys  and  girls 
scampered  away,  and  left  the  man  standing 
in  the  road,  with  only  Susan  and  Joshua 
for  an  audience.  Joshua  was  hot  with  in- 
dignation, and  Susan,  spell-bound  by  awe 
and  fear,  stood  motionless  by  Joshua's  side, 
while  large  tears  trickled  from  her  eyes  Into 
her  open  mouth. 

The  blood  was  oozing  from  the  wound  in 
the  man's  forehead,  and  liis  long  fair  hair 
was  crimson-stained.  His  eyes  wandered 
around  distressfully,  and  a  sighing  moan 
died  upon  his  lips.  The  fire  of  enthusiasm 
had  tied  from  his  countenance,  and  in  the 
place  of  the  inspired  actor,  Joshua  saw  a  man 
whose  face  was  of  a  deathly  hue,  and  from 
whose  eyes  the  light  seemed  to  have  de- 
parted. With  his  hand  pressed  to  his  fore- 
head, he  staggered  a  dozen  yards,  and  then 
leaned  against  the  wall  for  support. 

"  He  is  badly  hurt,  I  am  afraid,"  said 
Joshua. 

Susan  walked  swiftly  up  to  the  man. 

"  Shall  we  assist  you  home  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Home  !  "  he  muttered.  "  No,  no  ! 
Money !  I  want  money  !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  drooped,  and  would  have 
fallen  to  the  ground  but  for  Josh.ua,  who 
caught  the  man  on  his  shoulder,  and  let 
him  glide  gently  on  to  a  door-step.  Susan 
wiped  the  blood  from  his  fiice  with  her 
apron.  He  looked  at  her  vacantly,  closed 
his  eyes,  and  fainted. 

"  He  is  dying,  Joshua !  "  cried  Susan,  her 
trembling  lingers  wandering  about  the 
man's  face.  "  Oh,  the  wicked  boys  !  Oh, 
the  wicked  boys  !  " 

A  woman  here  came  out  of  a  house  with 
a  cup  of  cold  water^  which  she  sprinkled 
upon  his  face.  Presently  the  man  sighed, 
and  struggled  to  his  feet,  murmuring,  "  Yes, 
yes  ;  I  must  go  home." 

''  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  asked  Joshua. 
"  We  will  assist  you." 

He  did  nut  answer,  but  walked  slowly  on 
like  one  in  a  dream.  Assisting  but  not 
guiding  his  steps,  Joshua  and  Susan  walked 
on  either  side  of  him,  and  supported  him. 
Although  he  scarcely  seemed  to  be  awake, 
he  knew  his  way,  and  turning  down  a 
street  even  commoner  than  its  follows,  he 
stopped  at  the  entrance  to  a  miserable 
court.  Waving  his  hand  as  if  dismissing 
them,  he  walked  a  few  steps  down  the 
court,   and   entered  a  house,  the  door  of 


which  was  open.  Impelled  partly  by  curi- 
osity, but  chiefly  by  compassion,  Joshua  and 
Susan  followed  the  man  into  a  dark  pas- 
sage, and  up  a  rheumatic  flight  of  stairs, 
into  a  room  where  want  and  wretchedness 
made  grim  holiday. 

"  Minnie  !  "  he  muttered  hoarsely,  and 
all  his  strength  seemed  to  desert  him  as  he 
spoke — "  Minnie,  child  !  where  are  you  ?  " 

He  sank  upon  the  ground  with  a  wild 
shudder,  and  lay  as  if  death  had  overtaken 
him.  At  the  same  moment  there  issued 
from  the  corner  of  the  room  where  the 
deepest  shadows  gathered,  a  child-girl, 
so  marvellously  like  him,  with  her  fair  wav- 
ing hair,  her  large  beautifull\'-shaped  mouth, 
her  white  teeth,  and  her  great  restless  gray 
eyes,  that  Joshua  knew  at  once  that  they 
were  father  and  daughter. 

Minnie  crept  to  the  man,  and  sat  beside 
him.  She  spoke  to  him,  but  he  did  not  re- 
ply. And  then  she  looked  at  Joshua  and 
Susan,  whose  forms  were  dimly  discernible 
in  the  gathering  gloom. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  father  ?  "  she 
asked  of  them  in  a  faint  moaning  voice. 

'■  Some  bad  boys  threw  a  stone  at  him, 
and  hit  him  on  the  forehead,"  Joshua  an- 
swered. "  He  will  be  better  presently,  I 
hope." 

Minnie  did  not  heed  what  he  said,  but 
felt  eagerly  in  her  father's  pockets,  and,  not 
finding  what  she  searched  for,  began  to 
cry. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  beating  her  hands  to- 
gether ;  "  it  is  not  that.  He  is  weak  and 
ill  because  he  has  had  nothing  to  eat.  I 
thought  he  would  have  brought  home 
enough  to  buy  some  bread,  but  he  hasn't  a 
penny." 

Joshua  remembered  the  man's  words, 
"  Money  !  I  want  money  ! "  and  he  imme- 
diately realized  that  the  poor  creatures 
were  in  want. 

"  Are  you  hungry,  Minnie  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  have  not  had  any  breakfast,"  she  an- 
swered wearily.  "  No  more  has  fiither. 
Nor  any  dinner.  We  had  some  bread  last 
night.  We  ate  it  all  up.  Father  went  out 
to-day,  hoping  to  earn  a  little  money,  and 
he  has  come  home  without  any.  \Ve  shall 
die,  I  suppose.  But  I  should  like  some- 
thing to  eat  first." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  has  had  nothing 
to  eat  ?  "  asked  Joshua ;  the  words  almost 
choked  him. 

Minnie  looked  up  with  a  plaintive  smile. 

"  If  he  had  had  only  a  hard  piece  of 
bread  given  him,"  she  said  in  a  tender 
voice,  "  he  would  have  put  it  into  his  pocket 
for  me." 

"  Stop  here,  Susan,"  said  Joshua,  a  great 
sob  rising  in  his  throat.  "  I  will  be  back  in 
ten  minutes." 


PRAISEWORTHY  MEDDLER  A  BACHELOR. 


33 


He  ran  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the 
house.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  run  so  fast 
as  he  ran  now.  He  ruslied  into  Dan's 
room,  and  said,  ahnost  breathlessly,  — 

"  Where  is  the  money-box,  Dan  ?  How 
much  is  there  in  it  V  " 

"  Fourteen  pence,"  said  the  fxithful  treas- 
urer, producing  the  box.  "  What  a  heat 
you  are  in,  Jo !  " 

"  Never  mind  that.  I  want  every  farth- 
ing of  the  money,  Dan.  Don't  ask  me  any 
questions.     1  will  tell  you  all  by  and  by." 

Dan  emptied  the  money-box  upon  the 
table,  and  Joshua  seized  the  money,  and 
tore  out  of  the  house  as  if  for  dear  lite.  Soon 
he  was  in  the  actor's  room  again,  with 
bread  and  tea.  Susan  had  not  been  idle 
during  his  absence.  She  had  bathed  the 
man's  wound,  and  had  wiped  the  blood  and 
mud  from  his  face  and  hair.  He  had  re- 
covered from  his  swoon,  and  was  looking  at 
her  gratefully. 

Joshua  placed  the  bread  before  him,  and 
he  broke  a  piece  from  the  loaf  and  gave  it 
to  Minnie,  who  ate  it  greedily. 

" '  So  fair  and  foul  a  day  I  have  not 
seen,'  "  the  man  muttered  ;  and  both  Joshua 
and  Susan  thought,  "  How  strangely  yet 
how  beautifully  he  speaks  1  " 

Susan  made  the  tea  down  stairs,  and  she 
and  Joshua  sat  quietly  by,  while  the  man 
and  his  daughter  ate  like  starved  wolves. 
It  was  a  bitterly-painful  sight  to  see. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  now,  Susan," 
whispered  Joshua. 

They  would  have  left  the  room  without  a 
word  ;  but  the  man  said,  — 

"  What  is  your  name,  and  what  are 
you  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Joshua  Marvel,  and  I'm 
going  to  be  a  sailor." 

"  '  There's  a  sweet  little  cherub  that  sits 
up  aloft,' "  said  the  actor,  '  "  to  keep  watch 
for  the  life  of  poor  Jack.'  " 

"  That's  what  Praiseworthy  Meddler 
says,"  said  Joshua,  laughing.  "  I  shall 
come  and  see  you  again,  if  you  will  let  me." 

"  Come  and  welcome." 

"  Good-night,  sir." 

"  Good-night,  and  God  bless  you,  Joshua 
Marvel ! " 

Minnie  went  to  the  door  with  Joshua 
and  Susan,  and  looking  at  Joshua,  with 
the  tears  in  her  strangely-beautiful  eyes,  said, 

"  Good-niglit,  and  God  bless  you,  Joshua 
Marvel ! " 

She  raised  herself  on  tiptoe,  and  Joshua 
stooped  and  kissed  her.  After  that,  Susan 
gave  her  a  hug,  and  she  returned  to  her 
father,  and  lay  down  beside  him. 

When  he  arrived  home,  Joshua  told  Dan 
of  the  adventure,  and  how  he  had  spent  the 
fourteen  pence.  Dan  nodded  his  head  ap- 
provingly. 


"  You  did  right,"  he  said,  —  "  you  always 
do.     I  should  have  done  just  the  same." 

Then  they  took  the  odd  volume  of  Sliak- 
speare  from  tlu;  shelf,  and  read  the  Ghost 
scenes  in  "  Hamlet  "  before  they  said  good- 
niLrht. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

EXPLAINS    WHY   PRAISEWOUTHY   MED- 
DLER  REMAINED    A   BACHELOR. 

Here  is  Praiseworthy  Meddler,  sitting 
in  the  best  chair  in  a  corner  of  the  fireplace 
in  the  little  kitchen  in  Stepney.  In  his  low 
shoes  and  loose  trousers,  and  blue  shirt 
open  at  the  throat,  he  looks  every  inch  a 
sailor  ;  and  his  great  red  pock-marked  face 
is  in  keeping  with  his  calling.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  fireplace,  facing  Praise- 
worthy Meddler,  is  Mr.  George  Marvel ; 
next  to  Praiseworthy  Meddler  is  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel ;  on  a  stool  at  her  father's  feet  sits 
Sarah  ;  and  Joshua  sits  at  the  table,  watch- 
ing every  shade  of  expression  that  passes 
over  his  mother's  face.  The  subject-matter 
of  the  conversation  is  the  sea ;  and  Praise- 
worthy ]Meddler  has  been  "  holding  forth," 
as  is  evidenced  by  his  drawing  from  the 
bosom  of  his  shirt  a  blue-cotton  pocket- 
handkerchief,  upon  which  is  imprinted  a 
ship  of  twelve  hundred  tons  burden,  A  1  at 
Lloyd's  for  an  indefinite  number  of  years. 
The  ship  is  in  full  sail,  and  all  its  canvas  is 
set  to  a  favorable  breeze.  Upon  this  blue 
vessel  Praiseworthy  Meddler  dabs  his  red 
face  in  a  manner  curiously  suggestive  of  his 
face  being  a  deck,  and  the  handkerchief  a 
mop.  When  he  has  mopped  his  deck, 
which  appears  to  be  a  perpetually-perspir- 
ing one,  he  spreads  his  handkerchief  over 
his  knee  to  dry,  and  says,  as  being  an 
appropriate  tag  to  what  has  gone  be- 
fore, — 

"  There  is  no  place  on  earth  like  the 
sea." 

The  Old  Sailor  was  not  aware  that  any 
thing  of  a  paradoxical  nature  was  involved 
in  the  statement,  or  he  might  not  have  re- 
j^eated  it. 

"  There  is  no  place  on  earth  like  the  sea. 
Show  me  the  man  who  says  there  is,  and 
I'll  despise  him  ;  if  I  don't,  I'm  a  Dutch- 
man ; "  adding,  to  strengthen  his  decla- 
ration, "  or  a  double  Dutchman." 

The  man  not  being  forthcoming  —  prob- 
ably he  was  not  in  the  neighborhood,  or, 
being  there,  did  not  wish  to  be  openly 
despised  —  Praiseworthy  Meddler  looked 
around  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  the  best 


34 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


of  the  argument,  and  then  produced  a  piece 
of  pigtail  from  a  mysterious  recess,  and  bit 
into  it  as  if  he  were  a  savage  boar  biting 
into  the  heart  of  a  foe. 

"  But  the  danger,  Mr.  Meddler,"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  Marvel,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  There  is  more  danger  upon  land,  lady." 

"  There,  mother,"  said  Mr.  Marvel ; 
"  didn't  I  tell  you  so,  the  other  night  ?  " 

"  You  told  her  right,"  said  Praiseworthy, 
with  emphasis.  "  Danger  on  the  sea,  lady  1 
"What  is  it  to  danger  on  the  land  ?  A  sliip 
can  ride  over  a  wave,  let  it  be  ever  so 
high ;  but  a  man  can't  step  over  a  wagon. 
Are  carts  and  drays  and  horses  safe? 
Are  gas-pipes  safe  ?  And  if  there  is 
danger  on  the  sea,  lady  —  which  I  don't 
deny,  mind  you,  altogether  —  what  does  it 
do  ?  Why,  it  makes  a  man  of  a  boy,  and 
it  makes  a  man  more  of  a  man." 

"  Hear,  hear,  hear  ! "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Marvel,  rapping  on  the  table. 

"  Look  at  me  1 "  said  the  enthusiastic 
sailor.  "  Here  am  I  —  I  don't  know  how 
many  years  old,  and  that's  a  fact  —  I've 
lived  on  the  sea  from  when  I  was  a  boy  ; 
and  I've  been  blown  by  rough  winds,  and 
I've  been  blinded  by  storms,  and  I've  been 
wrecked  on  rocky  coasts,  and  I've  been  as 
near  death,  ay,  a  score  of  times,  as  most 
men  have  been.  Lord  love  you,  my  dear  1 
All  we've  got  to  do  is  to  do  our  duty ;  and 
when  we're  called  aloft,  we  can  say,  '  Ay, 
ay,  sir ! '  with  a  brave  heart.  What  bet- 
ter life  than  a  life  on  sea  is  there  for  boy 
or  man?  And  doesn't  Saturday  night 
come  round  ? 

"  For  all  the  world's  just  like  the  ropes  aboard  a 
ship. 

Each  man's  rigged  out, 

A  vessel  stout. 
To  take  for  life  a  trip. 
The  shrouds,  the  stays,  the  braces, 

Are  joys,  and  hopes,  and  fears; 
The  halliards,  sheets,  and  traces, 

Still  as  cacli  passion  veers, 

And  whim  prevails, 

Direct  the  sails. 
As  on  the  sea  of  life  he  steers. 

Then  let  the  storm 

Heaven's  face  deform, 
And  danger  press ; 

Of  these  in  spite,  there  are  some  joys 
Us  jolly  tars  to  bless; 

For  .Saturday  night  still  comes,  my  boys. 
To  drink  to  Tolland  Bess.'" 

Praiseworthy  Meddler  roared  out  the 
seng  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  as  if  it  were 
the  most  natural  and  appropriate  thing  for 
him  to  do  just  there  and  then.  The  effect 
of  his  sudden  inspiration  was,  that  every 
member  of  the  Marvel  family,  without 
being  previously  acquainted  with  the 
young  ladies  referred  to,  repeated  in 
their  honor  the  refrain  of  the  last  two 
lines,  — 

"  For  Saturday  night  still  comes,  my  boys. 
To  drink  to  foil  and  Beas," 


with  such  extraordinary  enthusiasm,  that 
the  carroty-haired  cat  rose  to  her  feet  in 
alarm,  debating  within  herself  the  possibil- 
ity of  the  Marvel  family  having  suddenly 
caught  a  contagious  madness  from  the  Old 
Sailor.  Convinced  that  the  matter  re- 
quired looking  into,  puss  walked  softly  to 
the  door,  with  the  intention  of  arousing 
the  neighbors ;  but,  silence  ensuing  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  refrain,  she  became  re- 
assured, and  stole  back  to  her  warm  space 
on  the  floor,  and  curled  herself  up  again, 
and  bUnked  at  the  fire. 

After  this  exertion,  Praiseworthy  Med- 
dler took  the  twelve-hundred-ton  ship  off 
his  knee,  and  dabbed  his  face  with  it  en- 
ergetically. 

"  What  does  it  amount  to,"  he  continued, 
"  if  the  heart's  brave  ?  What  does  it 
amount  to  when  it  is  all  over,  and  when 
one  gets  to  be  as  old  as  I  am  ?  I'm  tough 
and  firm ;  "  and  he  gave  his  leg  a  great 
slap.  "  I'm  as  young  as  a  younger  man  ; 
and  I  know  that  there's  no  place  on  earth 
like  the  sea." 

"And  you  can  get  promotion,  cant 
you  ?  "  asked  Joshua,  eagerly.  "  A  man 
needn't  be  a  common  sailor  all  his  life  ?  " 

"  No,  Josh  ;  he  needn't  stick  at  that,  if 
he's  willing  and  able,  and  does  his  duty.  I 
know  many  a  skipper  who  once  on  a  time 
was  only  an  able-bodied  seaman." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  mother  ? "  cried 
Joshua.  "  Now  are  you  satisfied  ? "  and 
he  jumped  up  and  gave  her  a  kiss. 

"  What  is  a  skipper,  Mr.  Meddler  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Marvel,  with  her  arm  round 
Joshua's  waist.  She  had  a  dim  notion 
that  a  skipper  was  connected  with  a  skip- 
ping-rope, and  that  she  might  have  been  a 
skipper  in  her  girlhood's  days.  If  that 
were  the  case,  she  could  not  see  what  ad- 
vantage it  would  be  to  Joshua  to  become 
one. 

"  A  skipper's  a  captain,  mother,"  whis- 
pered Joshua. 

"  Oh  1  "  said  ^Irs.  Marvel,  but  not  quite 
clear  in  her  mind  on  the  point.  "  Then, 
if  I  might  be  so  bold,  Mr.  Meddler  "  — 

But  iiere  Mrs.  Marvel  stopped  suddenly, 
and  blushed  like  a  girl. 

"  Ay,  ay,  lady,  go  on,"  said  the  Old 
Sailor,  encouragingly. 

"If  I  might  make  so  bold,"  continued 
Mrs.  Marvel,  with  an  effort,  "how  is  it 
that  you  never  rose  to  be  a  skipper  ?  " 
"  O  mother  I  "  cried  Joshua. 
"  The  question  is  a  sensible  one,  Joshua," 
said  Praiseworthy  Meddler  slowly,  "  and  a 
right  one  too ;  though,  if  all  able-bodied 
seamen  rose  to  be  skippers,  there  wouldn't 
be  ships  enough  in  the  world  for  them.  I 
should  have  been  promoted,  I  have  no 
doubt ;  but  I  was  born  with  something  un- 


PRAISEWORTHY   MEDDLER  A  BACHELOR. 


35 


fortunate,  which  has  stuck  to  me  all  my 
life,  and  which  I  have  never  been  able  to 
get  rid  of." 

"  Is  it  any  thing  painful  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Marvel  with  womanly  solicitude. 

Praiseworthy  Meddler  looked  at  her  with 
a  droll  expression  on  his  face,  and  folded 
his  twelve-iiundred-ton  ship  into  very  small 
squares,  and  laid  it  in  the  palm  of  his  left 
hand,  and  llattened  it  with  the  palm  of  his 
right,  before  he.  spoke  aj^^ain. 

"  It  wasn't  my  fault,  it  was  my  misfor- 
tune. 1  couldn't  help  my  father's  name 
bein'j:  Meddler,  and  I  couldn't  help  being  a 
^Meddler  myself,  being  his  son,  you  see. 
JNIy  fothor  didn't  like  his  name  any  more 
than  I  did,  but  he  didn't  know  how  to 
change  it ;  he  was  born  a  Meddler,  and  he 
died  a  Meddler.  My  being  a  Meddler  is 
the  only  reason,  I  do  believe,  why  I  am  not 
a  skipper  this  present  day  of  our  Lord  ; 
and  I  don't  think  I  am  sorry  that,  when  1 
die,  I  sba'n't  leave  any  Meddlers  behind 
me." 

"You  have  never  been  married,  Mr. 
Meddler?" 

''  No,  lady  ;  but  I  was  very  near  it  once, 
as  you  shall  hear.  It  was  all  because  of 
my  name  that  I  wasn't.  My  father  didn't 
like  his  name,  as  I  have  told  you.  His 
Christian  name  was  Andrew ;  he  was  a 
eaddler.  He  got  along  well  enough  to  set 
up  shop  for  himself,  and  one  morning  he 
took  the  shutters  down  for  the  first  time, 
and  commenced  business.  Over  his  win- 
dow was  the  sign,  '  A.  Meddler,  saddler.' 
There  was  a  rival  saddler  in  the  same 
town,  whose  name  was  Straight,  and  who 
didn't  like  my  father  setting  up  in  opposi- 
tion to  him ;  and  he  put  in  his  window  a 
bill,  with  this  on  it:  'Have  your  saddles 
made  and  repaired  by  a  Straifrhtforward 
man,  and  not  by  A.  Meddler.'  That  ruined 
my  father  :  people  laughed  at  him,  instead 
of  dealing  with  him  ;  he  soon  had  to  shut 
up  shop,  and  go  to  work  again  as  a  jour- 
neyman. He  had  two  children  ;  the  first 
was  a  girl,  the  next  was  me.  I  heard  that 
he  was  very  pleased  when  my  sister  was 
born,  because  she  was  a  girl.  '  She  can 
marry  when  she  grows  up,'  he  said,  '  and 
then  she  Avill  have  her  husband's  name.' 
When  I  was  born,  my  father  wasn't  pleased  : 
he  cUdu't  want  any  more  Meddlers,  he  said. 
But  he  couldn't  help  it ;  no  more  could  I. 
He  did  what  he  thought  was  the  very  best 
thing  for  me  —  he  gave  me  a  fine  Christian 
name  to  balance  my  surname :  he  had  me 
christened  Praiseworthy.  Now  that  made 
it  worse.  If  I  was  laughed  at  for  being  a 
Meddler,  I  was  laughed  at  more  for  being 
a,  Praiseworthy  Meddler.  Once,  when  I 
was  a  young  fellow,  I  did  good  service  in  a 
chip  I  was  serving  in.    When  we  came  into  | 


port,  the  skipper  reported  well  of  me,  and 
the   owners  sent  for    me.     I   went  to  the 
office,  thinking  that  I  should  be  promoted 
for  my  good  services.     The  firm  owned  at 
least  a  dozen  merchant-ships  ;  and  I  should 
have  been  promoted,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
my  name.    The  owners  spoke  kindly  to  me^ 
and  after  I  had  satisfied  them  that  I  was  fit 
for  promotion,  the  youngest  partner  asked 
my  name.    I  told  him  IMeddler.    He  smiled, 
and    the    other   partners   smiled.      '  What 
other  name  ?  '  he  asked.     '  Praiseworthy,' 
I  answered  ;  '  Praiseworthy  Meddler.'     He 
laughed  at  that,  and  said  that  I  was   the 
only   Praiseworthy   Meddler   he   had  ever 
met.     They   seemed  so  tickled   at  it,  that 
the  serious  part  of  the  affair  slipped  clean 
out   of  their   heads ;    they   called   me   an 
honest  fellow,  and  said  that  they  would  not 
forget  me.     They  didn't  forget  me ;  they 
gave  me  five  pounds  over  and  above  my 
pay.     If  it  hadn't  been  for  my  name,  they 
might  have  appointed  me  mate  of  one  of 
their  ships.     I  was  so  mad  with  thinkinof 
about  it,  that  I   began  to  hate  myself  be- 
cause I  was  a  Meddler.     If  the  name  had 
been  something  I  could  have  got  hold  of,  I 
would  have  strangled  it.     At  last  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  I  would  get  sjiliced,  and 
that  I  would  take  my  lass's  name  the  day 
I  was  married.     Being  on   leave,  and  stop- 
ping at  my  father's  house,  I  told  him  what 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  do.     He  was  a 
melancholy  man  —  it  was   his  name  that 
made  him  so,  I  do  believe  —  and  he  told 
me,  in  his  melancholy  voice,  that  it  was 
the   best   thing   I   could   do,   and  that  he 
wished  he  had  thou;rht  of  doing  so  before 
he  married.    '  Wipe  it  out,  my  boy,'  he  said, 
'  wipe  out   the  unlucky  name ;    sweep  all 
the  Meddlers  out  of  the  world.     It  would 
have  been  better  you  had  been  born  with  a 
hump  than    been    born   a   Meddler.'      He 
talked  a  little  wild  sometimes,  but  we  were 
used  to  it.     I  began  to  look  about  me  ;  and 
one  day  I  caught  sight  of  a  lass  who  took 
my  fancy.     My  leave  was  nearly  expired, 
and  I  had  to  join  my  ship  in  a  few  days.    I 
wanted  to  learn   all  about  the  girl,  and  I 
was  too  bashful  to  do  it  myselfi  which  is 
not  the  usual  way  of  sailors,  my  dear.     So 
I  pointed  out  the  lass  to  a  shipmate,  and 
told  him  I  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her,  and 
would  he  get    me  all  the   information  he 
could  about  her.     That  very  night,  as  I  was 
bolting  the  street-door,  just  before  going  to 
bed,  I  heard  my  shipmate's  voice  outside  in 
the   street.     '  Is   that   you.  Meddler  ?  '  he 
asked.    '  Yes,  Jack,'  I  answered.   '  I  thoufrht 
I'd  come  to  tell  you  at  once,'  he  cried  ;  '  I've 
found  out  all  about  her.     Her  father's  dead, 
and  her  mother's  married  again,  and  the 
lass  isn't  happy  at  home.'     '  That  makes  it 
all  the  better  for  me,'  I  said.     '  Has  she  cret 


36 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


a  sweetlieart ?  '  'None  tliat  she  cares  a 
button  for,  or  that  a  sailor  couldn't  cut  out,' 
he  answei-ed.  '  Hurrah  ! '  I  cried  ;  '  I  will 
o-o  and  see  her  to-morrow.  Thank  you, 
5ack  ;  orood-nio-ht.'  '  Good-nio;ht,'  he  said, 
and  I  heard  him  walking  away.  Just  then 
I  remembered  that  I  had  forgotten  the 
most  important  thing  of  all  —  her  name.  I 
unbolted  the  door,  and  called  after  him, 
'  What  is  her  name,  Jack  ? '  '  Mary  Goto- 
bed  !  '  he  cried  from  a  distance.  '  Mary 
what  ?  '  I  shouted.  '  Gotobed  ! '  he  cried 
again.     I  bolted  the  door,  and  went." 

Praiseworthy  Meddler,  pausing  to  take 
breath,  cast  another  droll  look  upon  his  at- 
tentive auditors. 

"  Gotobed  !  "  he  then  resumed.  "  Why, 
it  was  worse  than  Meddler  I  I  couldn't 
marry  a  lass  named  Gotobed,  and  take  her 
name  ;  I  didn't  want  to  marry  and  keep 
my  own  name;  I  couldn't  put  them  to- 
gether and  make  one  sensible  name  out  of 
the  two.  Gotobed  Meddler  was  as  bad  as 
Meddler  Gotobed.  And  the  worst  of  it 
all  was,  that  I  liked  the  lass.  She  was  as 
pretty  a  lass  as  ever  I  set  eyes  on.  She 
looked  prettier  than  ever  when  I  saw  her 
the  next  day ;  and  forgetting  all  about  the 
names,  I  spoke  to  her  and  lost  myself." 

"  Lost  yourself !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  the  Old  Sailor, 
with  a  bashfulness  that  did  not  set  ill  upon 
him.     "  I  fell  in  love." 

He  said  this  in  a  confidential  hoarse 
whisper  to  Mrs.  Marvel,  as  if  the  young- 
sters ought  not  to  hear  it. 

"  Oh,  that !  "  said  Mrs.  Marvel  with  a 
smile. 

"  But  directly  she  heard  what  my  name 
was,"  continued  the  Old  Sailor,  "  she  burst 
out  laughing,  and  ran  away.  I  had  to  go 
to  my  ship  soon  after  that ;  and  when  I 
came  back  again,  she  was  married  to  some 
one  else.  So  I  gave  up  the  idea  of  marry- 
ing ;  and  the  name  I  was  born  to  has  stuck 
to"me  all  my  life.  And  that  is  the  reason 
why  I  never  married,  and  why  I  never  be- 
came a  skipper." 

They  made  merry  over  the  Old  Sailor's 
story,  and  over  other  stories  that  he  told 
of  the  sea,  and  of  the  chances  it  afforded  a 
youngster  like  Joshua  of  getting  on  in  the 
worhf.  And  towards  the  close  of  the  even- 
ing Mrs.  Marvel  fairly  gave  in,  and  prom- 
ised that  she  would  not  say  another  word 
against  Joshua's  deternunation  to  be  a 
sailor.  In  token  of  which  submission  a, 
large  jug  of  grog  was  compounded,  in 
honor  of 'the  Old  Sailor ;  and  when  that 
was  drunk,  another  was  compounded  in 
honor  of  Joshua.  Of  both  of  which 
Praiseworthy  Meddler  drank  so  freely, 
that  he  staggered  home  to  his  barge  in  a 


state  of  semi-inebriation,  singing  snatches 
of  sea-songs  without  intermission,  until  he 
tumbled  into  his  hammock  and  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VHT. 

A     HAPPY     HOLIDAY. 

In  after  years,  when  Joshua  was  many 
thousands  of  miles  away  from  Stepney, 
Dan  loved  to  linger  over  the  memory  of 
one  especially  happy  day  which  he,  and 
Joshua,  and  Ellen,  and  the  Old  Sailor 
spent  together.  Upon  that  day  the  sun 
was  rising  now;  and  Dan,  lying  in  bed, 
was  waiting  impatiently  for  the  solemn 
and  merry  church-bells  to  strike  the  hour 
of  seven.  His  Sunday  clothes  were 
smoothly  laid  out  upon  a  chair,  close  to  his 
bed.  Had  the  day  not  been  an  eventful 
one,  he  would  not  have  been  allowed  to 
wear  his  best  suit  in  the  middle  of  the 
week.  When  Joshua  makes  his  appear- 
ance in  Dan's  bedroom,  it  will  be  seen  that 
he  will  also  be  dressed  in  his  best  clothes. 
The  secret  of  all  this  is,  that  the  lads  had 
received  permission  from  their  parents  to 
spend  the  day  with  the  Old  Sailor  at  the 
waterside,  and  were  to  be  taken  in  a  cart 
to  the  Old  Sailor's  castle  —  the  barge  near 
the  Tower  Stairs.  Twenty  times  at  the 
least  had  Dan  said  to  Joshua,  "  I  should  so 
like  to  see  the  Old  Sailor,  Jo ! "  And 
Joshua,  in  the  most  artful  manner,  had 
fished  for  the  invitation,  which  would  have 
been  very  readily  given  had  the  Old  Sailor 
been  awai-e  of  Joshua's  desire.  But  Joshua, 
like  a  great  many  other  diplomatists  who 
think  themselves  wise  in  their  generation,] 
went  to  work  in  a  subtle  roundabout  way, 
and  so  gave  himself  a  vast  deal  of  trouble, 
which  would  have  been  saved  had  he  come 
straight  to  the  point  at  once.  At  length,- 
one  day,  when  the  Old  Sailor  had  said, 
"  And  how  is  Dan,  Josh  ?  "  and  Joshua  had 
answered  that  he  thought  Dan  was  begin- 
ning to  grow  strong,  he  ventui-ed  to  add, 
with  inward  fear  and  trembling  :  "  And  he 
would  so  much  like  to  see  you,  sir,  and 
hear  some  of  your  sea-stories !  When  I 
tell  them  they  don't  sound  the  same  as 
when  you  tell  them.  There's  no  salt  in 
them."  Artful  Joshua  !  "  Well,  my  lad," 
the  Old  Sailor  had  said  with  a  chuckle 
(he  was  not  insensible  to  flattery,  the  old 
do"- !),  "  why  not  bring  him  here  to  spend 
the  day  ?  " 

"  When  shall  it  be,  sir  ?  "  asked  Joshua 
secretly  delighted. 

"  Next  Wednesday,  Josh,"  said  the  Old 


A  HAPPY   HOLIDAY. 


37 


Sailor.  So  next  "Wednesday  it  was.  And 
Joshua  ran  to  Dan's  house  wild  with 
delight,  and  coaxed  Dan's  parents  in  to 
giving  their  permission. 

It  was  on  this  very  Wednesday  morning 
that  Dan  was  lying  awake,  waiting  for 
seven  o'clock  to  strike.  He  awoke  at  least 
two  hours  before  the  proper  time  to  rise  ; 
and  those  hours  appeared  to  him  to  be  lono;- 
er  than  hours  ever  were  before.  The  ride 
itself  would  be  an  event  in  Dan's  lite  ;  but 
it  was  not  to  be  compared  with  what  was 
to  come  afterwards  —  the  spending  of  a 
whole  day  and  night  in  a  house  on  the 
water.  During  the  past  week  Dan  had 
been  in  a  fever  of  pleasurable  anticipation, 
and  in  a  fever  of  fright  also,  lest  it  should 
rain  upon  this  particular  day.  The  pre- 
vious night  it  had  rained  ;  and  Dan,  lying 
awake  for  a  longer  time  than  usual,  had 
prayed  for  the  rain  to  go  away.  Ellen  — 
standing  at  the  window  in  his  bedroom, 
after  she  had  got  out  his  clean  shirt  and 
Sunday  clothes,  and  brushed  and  smoothed 
them,  and  taken  up  a  stitch  in  them  here 
and  there,  as  women  (and  girls  after  them) 
say  —  had  seen  the  spots  of  rain  falling, 
and,  joining  her  prayer  to  his,  had  begged 
very  earnestly  to  the  rain  to  go  away  and 
come  again  another  day. 

And  now  the  day  was  dawning ;  and 
Dan,  opening  his  eyes,  clapped  his  hands 
in  delight  to  see  the  sun  shining  so  brightly 
upon  the  broken  jug  which  stood  upon  the 
window-sill,  and  in  which  was  a  handful  of 
the  sweet-smelling  humble  wall-tlower. 
The  pair  of  bullfinches  which  Joshua  had 
bought  for  the  Old  Sailor  were  busily  at 
work  in  their  cage,  which  was  hanging  at 
the  window,  and  were  as  conscious  of  the 
beauty  of  the  morning  as  the  most  sensible 
human  being  could  possibly  be.  Dan  was 
so  delighted  that  he  whistled  '•  Rule,  Bri- 
tannia !  Britannia  rules  the  waves  1 "  -  And 
one  of  the  bullfinches,  after  abstracting  the 
last  hemp-seed  from  the  glass  containing 
their  morning  meal,  immediately  piped  out 
with  fervid  patriotism,  "  For  Britons  never, 
never,  ^E-ver  shall  be  slaves  !  "  From  this 
episode  the  reader  will  learn  that  the  edu- 
cation of  the  bullfinches  was  completed. 
"  Rule,  Britannia,"  was  not  their  sole 
vocal  accomplishment.  They  could  whistle 
"  And  did  you  not  hear  of  a  jolly  young 
waterman  ? "  in  a  very  superior  manner. 
On  that  day  the  bullfinches  were  to  be 
presented  to  their  new  master  —  to  whom 
not  a  hint  had  been  given  of  the  pleasant 
surprise  in  store  for  him ;  Avhich  made  it 
all  tlie  more  delightful. 

While,  the  patriotic  bullfinch  was  assert- 
ing in  the  most  melodiously-persuasive 
notes  that  "  Britons  never,  never,  "SE-ver 
shall  be   slaves,"   its   mate   was   engaged 


drawing  up  water  in  the  tiniest  little  bucket 
in  the  world  —  another  of  the  accomplish- 
ments (coming,  presumably,  under  the  head 
of  "  extras  ")  which  {)aticnt  Dan  had  taught 
the  birds  in  order  to  win  the  heart  of  the 
Old  Sailor.  The  industrious  bullfinch  had 
a  remarkatily  rakish  eye,  which  flashed 
saucily  and  impatiently  as  the  music  fell 
upon  its  ears.  The  slender  roi)e  which 
held  the  bucket  being  in  its  beak,  it  could 
not  join  in  the  harmony;  but  directly  the 
bucket  was  hauled  up  and  secured,  it 
whetted  its  whistle,  and  piped  out  in 
opposition,  — 

"  And  did  you  not  hear  of  a  jolly  yoiina:  waterman, 

Who  at  Blackfriars-bridge  used  for  to  ply  ? 

He  feathered  liis  oars  with  such  skill  and  dexterity, 

Winning  each  heart  and  delighting  each  eye  ;  " 

repeating,  as  was  its  wont,  the  last  line, 
'•  Winning  each  heart  and  delighting;  each 
eye,"  so  as  to  produce  a  greater  effect.  I 
do  not  assert  that  the  bullfinch  actually 
uttered  the  words,  but  I  cfo  assert  positively 
that  it  sang  the  music  of  them  with  the 
most  beautitiil  trills  that  mortal  ever  heard. 

But  there  was  the  solemn  church-bell 
striking  seven  o'clock  in  tones  less  solemn 
than  usual,  and  there  was  the  joyous  church- 
bell  following  suit.  And  as  if  the  sound 
had  conjured  him  up,  there  was  Joshua, 
dressed  in  his  best,  and  looking  so  fresh 
and  handsome  with  his  holiday-face  on, 
that  Dan  might  well  be  proud  of  him.  He 
had  his  accordion  under  his  arm.  and  in 
one  hand  was  a  bunch  of  flowers  which 
Dan  was  to  give  to  the  Old  Sailor,  and  in 
the  other  a  glass  containing  some  rape-seed 
soaked  in  canary-wine  for  the  birds.  They 
knew  as  well  as  possible — knowing  little 
bullfinches!  —  that  Joshua  had  something 
nice  for  them ;  and  as  he  approached  the 
cage  they  came  as  close  to  him  as  they 
could,  and,  to  show  their  appreciation  of 
his  kindness,  greeted  him  with  a  gush  of 
the  sweetest  melody.  What  better  begin- 
ning could  there  be  for  a  happy  holiday  ! 

When  Dan  was  dressed  the  lads  went 
into  the  kitchen  to  have  breakfast.  And 
there  was  Ellen,  as  fresh  as  a  daisy.  The 
breakfast  things  were  laid  ;  and  there  was 
a  clean  cloth  (not  damask,  mind  1)  on  the 
deal  table,  and  there,  absolutely,  were  two 
new-laid  e<igs,  one  for  Joshua  and  one  for 
Dan,  which  Ellen  had  bought  and  paid  for 
with  her  own  money  the  day  before,  with- 
out saying  a  word  about  it.  Ellen  stooped 
and  kissed  Dan,  and  as  she  raised  her  head 
Joshua  looked  at  her,  and  felt  a  huge  long- 
ing to  take  her  face  between  his  two  hands 
and  kiss  her,  as  he  used  to  do  in  the  time 
when  they  played  sweethearts  together. 
But  he  hadn't  the  courage.  Yet  he  could 
not  help  looking  at  Ellen  again  and  think- 


38 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


ins,  ^Vhat  a  pretty  girl  Ellen  is  1  and  then, 
seein'jj  Ellen's  eyes  fixed  upon  his,  he 
turned  away  his  head  and  blushed.  And 
Ellen  smiled  at  that,  and,  if  she  had  been 
asked,  really  could  not  have  told  the  rea- 
son why.  Surely  never  was  such  a  happy 
commencement  to  a  holiday,  and  never 
was  such  a  happy  couple  as  Dan  and  Josh- 
ua !  After  all,  are  not  simple  pleasures 
the  best?  Are  not  those  the  sweetest 
pleasures  that  cost  the  least  ? 

What  put  it  into  Joshua's  head  ?  Was 
it  the  sentiment  of  perfect  happiness  that 
actuated  the  wish  ?  Or  was  it  a  passing 
shadow,  lighter  than  the  lightest  cloud, 
that  passed  over  Ellen's  face,  as  the  lads 
were  talking  of  the  coming  delights  of  the 
day  ?  It  was  there  but  a  moment,  but  Joshua 
saw  it,  or  thought  he  did,  and  thought  also 
that  there  was  regret  in  it.  Or  was  it 
Ellen's  pretty  face,  or  the  little  piece  of 
blue  ribbon  that  she  had  put  round  her 
neck,  the  puss  ?  For  Ellen  was  fair,  and 
knew  what  colors  best  suited  her  complex- 
ion. 'Whatever  it  was  that  actuated  it, 
there  was  Joshua  saying,  just  as  they  had 
sat  down  to  breakfast  and  Ellen  was  pour- 
ing out  the  milk-and-water  —  you  may 
imagine  that  there  was  not  a  great  deal  of 
tea  drank  in  Stepney  —  there  was  Joshua 
saying,  — 

"  Ellen,  I  wish  you  were  coming  with 
us." 

Ellen's  hand  shook  so  that  she  spilt 
some  of  the  milk-and-water,  and  a  spasm 
rose  in  her  throat,  for  she  had  wished  the 
same  thing  fervently,  but  had  never  spoken 
of  it.  She  checked  the  spasm,  hoping 
that  her  emotion  would  not  be  noticed,  and 
answereJ  not  a  word.  But  she  looked. 
Such  a  look  1 

Dan  was  biting  into  a  slice  of  bread-and- 
butter,  but  directly  he  heard  Joshua's  wish, 
and  saw  the  yearning,  look  that  sprang 
into  Ellen's  eyes,  he  ceased  eating,  and 
leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand. 

"  I  think  I  am  very  selfish,"  he  said,  and 
hot  tears  gushed  into  his  eyes. 

In  an  instant  Ellen  was  by  his  side,  and 
Ellen's  face  was  close  to  his.  Any  one 
who  saw  that  action,  any  one  who  could 
understand  the  quick  sympathy  that  caused 
her  to  put  her  face  so  close  to  Dan's,  to 
show  that  she  knew  what  he  was  reproach- 
ing himself  lor,  might  have  been  able  to 
comprehend  the  depth  of  unselfish  tender- 
ness that  dwelt  in  the  soul  of  that  little 
maid.  Ah !  it  was  only  in  a  kitchen, 
but  how  beautiful  it  was  to  see  ! 

"  Don't  bother  about  me,  my  dear,"  she 
said  almost  in  a  whisper.  "  If  you  are 
happy,  I  am  happy."  And  then  she  add- 
ed, pretending  to  be  comically  indignant, 
"You  stupid  Dan!     I've   a    good    mind 


to    rumple    your  hair  1      You  selfish,  in- 
deed 1  " 

"  I  am  selfish !  "  exclaimed  Dan,  looking 
up  and  thinking — just  as  Joshua  had 
thought  —  that  he  had  never  seen  her  look 
so  pretty.  "  I  am  selfish,  Joshua !  "  he 
cried,  so  energetically  that  Joshua  was 
(|uite  startled.  "  ^Vllat  would  the  Old 
Sailor  say  ?  " 

"  But,  Dan  "  —  said  Ellen. 

"  Seriously,  Jo "  said  Dan,  putting  his 
hand  over  Ellen's  mouth,  "  what  would  the 
Old  Sailor  say  V  " 

"  The  Old  Sailor  would  be  delighted." 

"  Now,  look  here,"  said  Dan,  with  a  de- 
termination almost  comical  in  its  intensity 
when  one  considered  what  inspired  it:  as 
if  it  were  a  question  of  tremendous  national 
consequence,  or  something  in  which  mighty 
interests  were  involved  ;  "are  you  sure?  " 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  be  deliLihted,  Dan," 
replied  Joshua  without  the  slightest  hesi- 
tation. 

"  It's  of  no  use,  Dan  and  Josh  dear,"  said 
Ellen,  shaking  her  head.  "  You  musn't 
think  of  it.  I  can't  go.  Mother  wouldn't 
be  able  to  spare  me.  Why,  don't  you 
know  "  — 

"  Don't  I  know  what,  Ellen  ? "  asked 
Dan. 

"  Don't  you  know  that  it's  washing- 
day  ?  "  said  Ellen  with  a  sharp  nod,  as  if 
that  settled  the  question. 

Dan's  head  was  still  resting  upon  his 
hand.  He  pondered  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  raising  his  head,  said,  "  Good 
little  Ellen  ;  "  and  kissed  her.  "  Now  let 
us  have  breakfast." 

Breakfast  being  over,  Dan  said  he  want- 
ed to  see  Susan. 

"  Tell  her  I  want  to  speak  to  her  most 
particularly,"  he  said  to  Ellen.  "  And, 
Ellen  1  when  Susan  comes,  you  go  out  of 
the  room,  and  Joshua  as  well.  I  want  to 
speak  to  her  quite  privately." 

Ellen  and  Joshua  left  Susan  with  Dan, 
and  went  into  the  passage;  which  gave 
Joshua  opportunity  to  ask  Ellen  if  she  re- 
membered when  he  used  to  be  pushed  into 
the  coal-cellar.  Yes,  Ellen  remembered  it 
very  well  indeed  ;  and  they  both  laughed 
over  the  reminiscence. 

"  How  black  your  face  used  to  be  1  "  ex- 
claimed Ellen. 

"  And  yours  too,  Ellen  !  "  retorted  Josh- 
ua saucily. 

Whereat  Ellen  blushed,  and  did  not 
reply. 

What  passed  between  Susan  and  Dan 
was  never  divulged.  It  was  nothing  very 
dreadful,  you  may  be  sure  ;  for  when  Dan 
called  to  Joshua  and  Ellen  to  come  in, 
they  found  him  smiling.  Susan  was  gone, 
but  presently  she  entered  again  with  a 


A  HAPPY  HOLIDAY. 


39 


radiant  face  and  nodded  to  Dan,  who  nodded 
to  Susan  in  return,  and  said  gayly,  — 
"  Thanlc  you,  Susey  I  " 
When  Susan  went  into  the  passage,  she 
wiped  her  eyes,  and  did  not  once  look 
round  to  see  if  any  thin;;  was  behind  her. 
Tliat  day,  over  the  washing-tub,  Susan 
was  happier  than  she  had  been  for  a  long 
time. 

Then  Dan  rubbed  his  hands,  and  said, 
"  I  really  think  this  is  going  to  be  the  hap- 
piest day  of  my  life." 

The  happiest  day  of  my  life!  How 
often,  and  with  what  various  meanings,  are 
those  words  uttered  1  At  dinner-parties 
when  the  invited  guest  rises  to  respond  to 
the  toast  of  his  health,  and  commences  by 
saying  in  tones  which  falter  from  emotion, 
"  This  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life  1  " 
At  wedding-feasts,  if  healths  are  being 
proposed,  when  the  bridegroom,  the  bride- 
groom's father,  and  the  bride's  father,  each 
in  his  turn  declares,  "  This  is  the  happiest 
day  of  ray  life  !  "  At  the  presentation  of 
testimonials,  whether  to  humbug,  worthy 
man,  or  fool,  it  is  *'  Tlie  happiest  day  of  my 
lii'e !  "  with  one  and  all  of  them.  With 
copious  use  of  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
with  face  more  suitable  for  a  funeral  than 
for  a  joyful  occasion.  But  a  fig  lor  moral- 
izing on  such  a  day  as  this  ! 

Dan's  countenance  was  suffused  with  a 
flush  of  genuine  delight,  as  he  repeated,  — 

"  Yes,  Ellen,  this  is  going  to  be  the  hap- 
piest day  of  my  life." 

She  gave  him  a  questioning,  imploring 
look,  which  asked  the  reason  why  as 
plainly  as  any  words  could  put  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  Come  here,  and  I'll  whisper,"  said  Dan. 

Ellen  put  her  ear  close  to  his  mouth,  but 
Dan,  instead  of  whispering,  blew  into  her 
ear,  which  caused  her  to  start  away  with  a 
pleasant  shiver,  and  to  cry  out  that  he  tickled 
her.  Nothing  daunted,  however,  she  placed 
her  ear  a  second  time  to  his  lips ;  and  then  lie 
whispered  something,  which  made  Ellen 
jump  for  joy,  and  hug  him  round  the  neck, 
and  tear  out  of  the  room  as  if  she  were 
mad.  And  almost  before  you  could  say 
"  Jack  Robinson  ! "  there  she  was  back 
again,  her  eyes  all  aglow  with  excitement, 
in  her  modest  Sunday  dress  and  pretty 
Sunday  bonnet. 

Susan's  voice  was  heard  calling  out,  — 

"  Here's  the  cart  at  the  door  !  " 

'•  She  means  our  carriage,  Jo,"  said  Dan 
merrily,  as  Joshua  carried  him  out. 

And  there  they  were,  the  three  of  them  in 
the  cart ;  Dan  lying  his  full  length  on  some 
straw  between  Joshua  and  Ellen,  who  sat 
upon  a  kind  of  bench  in  a  state  of  perfect 
happiness.  And  there  were  the  bullfinches 
in  Uieir  cage,  wondering  what  on  earth  it 


all  meant,  but  very  blithe  and  merry  not- 
withstanding. And  there  was  the  cart  mov- 
ing along  slowly,  so  that  Dan  should  not 
be'jolted.  And  there  they  were,  presently, 
looking  at  each  other,  and  laughing  and 
nodding  pleasantly  without  any  apparent 
cause. 

Not  among  all  the  stars  that  gem  the 
heavens  (which  some  wise  men  assert  are 
really  worlds  in  which  forms  that  have  life 
fulfil  the  task  ordained  by  the  Master  of 
all  the  worlds)  could  there  be  found  a 
more  beautiful  world  than  this  was  to  our 
young  holiday-folk  on  that  bright  summer 
morning.  Whitechapel  the  Dingy  was  as  a 
flower-garden  in  their  eyes ;  and  as  they  rode 
through  the  busy  neighborhood  a  great 
many  persons  turned  to  look  at  the  crazy 
cart  —  the  springs  in  which  were  the  only- 
uneasy  part  of  the  whole  affair  —  and  at 
the  three  joyful  faces  that  peered  about,  en- 
joying every  tiling,  and  thankfUl  for  every 
thing,  from  the  flying  clouds  to  the  lazy 
gutters. 

Soon  they  were  at  the  waterside  ;  and 
soon  they  were  on  the  barge,  with  the  Old 
Sailor  welcoming  them  in  downright  sailor 
fashion.  Directly  Dan  put  out  his  little 
hand,  and  felt  it  imprisoned  in  the  Old  Sail- 
or's immense  palm,  and  directly  he  looked 
at  the  great  open  face,  pock-marked  as  it 
was,  and  into  the  staring  pleasant  eyes, 
which  returned  his  look  honestly  and  pleas- 
antly, he  nodded  to  himself  in  satisfaction. 
His  delight  was  unbounded  when  the  Old 
Sailor  lifted  him  tenderly,  and  placed  him  in 
a  hammock  specially  prepared  for  him.  He 
was  deeply  impressed  by  the  Old  Sailor's 
thoughtful  kindness.  The  mere  fact  of  his 
lying  in  a  hammock  was  entrancing.  And 
there  Dan  swung,  and,  gazing  in  wonder 
upon  the  busy  life  of  the  flowing  river,  fan- 
cied himself  in  dreandand. 

Before  he  gave  himself  up  to  that  trance, 
however,  there  was  much  to  be  done  and 
much  to  be  observed.  When  the  Old  Sailor 
lifted  him  into  the  hammock  and  arranged 
him  comfortably  —  Dan  was  surprised  that 
those  great  strong  hands  could  be  so  light 
and  tender  —  he  said  to  the  Old  Sailor, 
"  Thank  you,  sir ;  "  and  the  Olil  Sailor  re- 
plied, "  Ay,  ay,  my  lad,"  just  as  he  had  read 
of,  and  in'just  the  kind  of  tone  he  imagined 
a  sailor  would  use. 

The  next  thing  the  Old  Sailor  did  was  to 
rest  his  hand  upon  Ellen's  head.  There- 
upon Joshua  said,  "  You  don't  mind,  Mr. 
Praiseworthy,  do  you  ?  "  referring  to  the  lib- 
erty they  had  taken  in  bringing  Ellen  with- 
out an  invitation.  "  Mind  !  "  the  Old  Sailor 
exclaimed.  "  A  pretty  little  lass  like  this !  " 
and  he  stooped  and  kissed  her.  And  Ellen 
did  not  even  blush,  but  seemed  to  like  it. 
The  Old  Sailor  seemed  to  like  it  too.    There 


40 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


•was  something  wonderfully  charming  in  his 
manner  of  saying  "  Pretty  little  lass ;  "  none 
but  a  downright  thoroughbred  old  tar  could 
have  said  it  in  such  a  way.  And  there  was 
something  wonderfully  charming  in  the 
rough  grace  with  which  he  accepted  the 
bunch  of  flowers  from  Ellen.  His  first  in- 
tention was  to  stick  them  in  the  bosom  of  his 
shirt ;  but  second  consideration  led  him  to 
reflect  that  their  circumference  rendered 
such  a  resting-place  inappropriate.  So  he 
placed  them  in  a  large  tin  mug,  and  sprin- 
kled them  with  water,  which  glistened  on 
their  leaves  as  freshly  as  the  dew-kisses 
which  glisten  in  the  early  morning  wherever 
Nature  makes  holiday.  Then  Dan  took 
the  cage  containing  the  bullfinches,  and 
asked  the  Old  Sailor  to  accept  the  birds  as  a 
present  from  him  and  Joshua ;  and  the  Old 
Sailor  thanked  him  in  such  cordial  terms, 
that  his  heart  was  s<irred  with  a  fresh  de- 
light. Truth  to  tell,  the  Old  Sailor  was 
mightily  gratified  with  the  birds ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  he  was  mightily  puzzled  as 
to  what  he  was  to  do  with  them.  Prettier 
little  things  he  had  never  seen ;  but,  small 
and  beautiful  as  they  were,  they  were  a  re- 
sponsibility for  which  he  was  not  prepared. 
He  stood  with  his  legs  wide  apart,  regard- 
hig  the  birds  with  a  perplexed  expression 
on  his  face ;  and  Dan  divining  what  was  in 
his  mind,  opened  the  door  of  the  cage  and 
out  hopped  the  bullfinches,  looking  about 
them  with  an  air  of  having  been  accustomed 
to  the  water  all  their  lives.  As  if  impelled 
by  a  sudden  desire  to  fly  away  and  join  their 
mates  in  distant  woodlands,  they  took  wing 
aiid  fluttered  around  the  hammock  in  which 
Dan  lay ;  now  coming  tantalizingly  near, 
and  now  sailing  away  with  an  independent 
air,  as  much  as  to  say,  '•  We're  off!  "  But 
when  Dan  held  out  his  forefinger,  they  came 
and  perched  upon  it  contentedly.  The  Old 
Sailor  gazed  on  the  little  comedy  in  admira- 
tion. His  admiration  was  increased  a  hun- 
dred fold  when  Dan,  taking  his  hand,  trans- 
ferred the  birds  on  to  his  forefinger.  He 
looked  at  the  birds  timorously  ;  the  birds 
looked  at  him  confidently.  He  was  afraid 
to  move  lest  some  mischief  should  happen  to 
the  delicate  creatures. 

'•  Put  them  in  the  cage,  sir,''  said  Dan. 
The  Old  Sailor  did  so.  "  Now,"  continued 
Dan,  "  I  will  send  you  food  for  them  regular- 
ly ;  and  it  will  not  be  too  much  trouble  for  you 
to  fill  this  well  with  fresh  water  every  morn- 
ing, will  it,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Old  Sailor.  "  But  how  will 
the  birds  get  at  the  water,  my  lad  ?  It  is 
out  of  their  reach." 

"  Ah  !  you  think  so,  sir.  But  have  you 
ever  been  in  want  of  water  ?  " 

"  Of  fresh  water,  I  have,  my  lad  ;  not  of 
gait.     Was  for  three  days  on  a  raft,  with  not 


a  drop  of  fresh  water  among  thirty-seven  of 
us.  Two  drank  salt  water,  and  went  raving 
mad  ;  one  threw  himself  into  the  sea." 

"  And  the  others,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Dan,  im- 
mensely interested. 

"  The  others,  my  lad,  waited  and  suffered, 
and  prayed  for  rain.  And  it  came,  my  lad, 
and  we  were  saved,  by  the  mercy  of  God. 
It  was  awful  suffering ;  our  very  eyeballs 
were  blazing  with  thirst.  It  would  have 
been  a  relief  to  us  if  we  could  have  cried." 

"  But  the  heavens  cried  for  you,  sir,"  said 
Dan  tenderly. 

"  Ay,  ay,  my  lad,"  said  the  Old  Sailor  ; 
"  that's  well  said.  The  heavens  cried  for 
us;  and  we  lay  on  our  backs  with  our 
mouths  open  to  catch  the  blessed  drops. 
The  salt  water  that  was  death  to  us  dashed 
up  from  below  ;  and  the  fresh  water  that 
was  life  to  us  came  down  from  above.  In 
five  minutes  we  were  soaked  with  the  rain  ; 
and  we  sucked  at  our  clothes.  We  caught 
enough  rain-water  to  last  us  until  we  were 
picked  up  by  a  merchantman,  homeward 
bound  from  the  Indies." 

"  That  was  good,"  said  Dan,  feeling  as  if 
he  had  known  the  Old  Sailor  all  his  life. 
"  Now,  supposing  you  were  wrecked,  sir, 
on  a  high  rock.  Here  is  the  rock,"  point- 
ing to  the  perch  on  which  the  bullfinches 
were  standing. 

"  Here  is  the  rock,"  repeated  the  Old 
Sailor,  chiming  in  readily  with  Dan's  fancy. 

"  And  here  you  are,  sir,  with  another 
sailor,"  identifying  Praiseworthy  Meddler 
and  the  other  sailor  with  the  two  bull- 
finches. 

"  And  here  am  I,  with  another  sailor," 
said  the  Old  Sailor  attentively,  nodding 
familiarly  at  his  new  shipmate  in  the  cage, 
who,  making  much  too  light  of  the  calamity 
which  had  befallen  them,  winked  saucily 
in  return. 

"  And  you  are  very  thirsty." 

"  And  I  am  very  thirsty,"  said  the  Old 
Sailor,  smacking  his  parched  lips. 

"  And  here,  out  of  your  reaxih,  is  the 
water,"  indicating  the  well,  "  you  want  to 
drink." 

"  And  here,  out  of  my  reach,  is  the  water 
I  want  to  drink,"  said  the  Old  Sailor,  grow- 
ing more  parched. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Dan,  "  you  can't  get 
at  the  water  with'  your  beak  —  I  mean 
your  mouth  — '^nd  you  can't  reach  it  with 
your  claws  —  I  mean  your  hands.  Now 
what  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  what  do  I  do  ?  "  repeated  the  Old 
Sailor,  not  seeing  his  way  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty. 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Dan  enthusiastically, 
"  you  get  a  rope  —  or,  if  you  haven't  got 
one,  you  make  one  out  of  some  strong  grass, 
or  out  of  strips  of  your  clothes ;  and  you 


A  HAPPY   HOLIDAY 


41 


get  a  bucket  —  or  you  make  one  out  of  a 
cocoanut,"  in  his  cntliusiasui  Dan  took  the 
cocoanut  for  granted ;  and  tlie  Old  Sailor 
accepted  its  existence  on  the  rock  with 
most  implicit  faith  —  "and  you  attach  the 
cocoanut  to  the  rope,  and  you  lowiu-  it  into 
the  water,  and  draw  it  up  full.  Here  you 
are,  doing  it." 

And,  obedient  to  Dan's  signal,  the  bull- 
finches lowered  their  tiny  bucket  into  the 
well,  and  drew  it  up  full,  and  dipped  their 
beaks  into  the  water,  as  if  they  wei-e  ship- 
wrecked bullfinches,  and  were  nearly  dead 
with  raging  thirst. 

A  thoughtful  expression  stole  into  the 
Old  Sailor's  face. 

"  They  are  wise  little  creatures,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  seen  a  might  of  strange  things  and 
pretty  things  ;  but  this  is  as  pretty  as  any 
thing  I  have  seen." 

"  You  can  learn  them  any  thing  almost, 
su',"  said  Dan,  who  was  bent  upon  making 
the  Old  Sailor  love  the  birds. 

"  To  climb  ropes  like  a  sailor  ?  " 

"In  a  week  they  could.  If  I  had  a  little 
ship,  with  two  or  three  sails  and  a  rope- 
ladder,  I  could  teach  them  to  climb  the  lad- 
der and  set  the  sails." 

"  I  dare  say,  my  lad,  I  dare  say." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  mermaid,  sir  ?  " 

This  was  one  of  the  questions  Dan  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  ask  the  Old  Sailor 
directly  they  grew  familiar. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Old  Sailor.  "  I 
wasn't  very  near  her ;  and  I  was  laughed 
at  lor  saying  I  had  seen  her.  But  I  saw 
her,  for  all  that." 

"  Where  was  it  that  you  saw  her,  sir?  " 

"  In  the  South  Pacific,  where  there  ai'e 
the  ugliest  images  of  men  and  women,  and 
the  most  wonderful  birds  and  flowers  and 
trees,  in  the  world.  I  have  walked  for 
miles  through  forests  of  wild  flowers  and 
strange  trees,  while  thousands  of  parrots 
were  flying  about,  with  their  feathers  all 
blue  and  gold  and  scarlet  and  silver." 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful !  "  exclaimed  Dan, 
twining  his  fingers  together.  "  And  they're 
there  now,  sir  ?  " 

"  Surely.  Your  land-lubbers  don't  know 
any  thing  of  the  world." 

"  Those  men  and  women,  sir  —  are  they 
very  ugly  ?  " 

"  As  ugly  as  sin  can  make  'em  —  brown 
and  copper-colored  and  nearl}^lack ;  can- 
nibals, they  are." 

"  That's  very  dreadful  1  "  said  Dan  with  a 
sliiver.     "  AVhat  else  have  you  seen,  sir  V  " 

"  What  would  you  say  to  gardens  in  the 
sea  ? "  asked  the  Old  Sailor  enthusiasti- 
cally. "  What  would  you  say  to  fields  in 
the  sky  ?  " 

"  No  I  "  said  Dan  in  wonder. 

"  Yes,  my  lad.     Gardens  in  the  sea,  with 


((17H 

the  flowers  growiiJc'Snd  blooming.  I  only 
saw  land  in  the  sKy;,"«fit;e  ;  but  it  was  9,/ 
sight  that  can't  be  fo'i*w(Jt.>r'  We  were  thou- 
sands of  miles  away  fi'oni  land  ;  hut  there  in 
the  sky  was  the  country,  with  fields  and  for- 
ests and  mountains.  We  saw  it  lor  near 
an  hour  ;  then  it  melted  away.  AVhat  would 
you  say  to  flying  fish  —  showers  of  'em.  I 
heard  of  a  talking  fish ;  but  I  never  saw  it. 
I  shouldn't  wonder,  now,  if  these  i)retty 
little  birds  could  talk." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Dan  ;  "  they  can't  talk, 
but  they  can  sing." 

With  that  he  whistled  the  first  stave  of 
"Rule,  Britannia;"  and  the  bullfinches 
piped  the  patriotic  song  so  spiritedly,  that 
the  Old  Sailor  roared  out  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
"  Rule,  Britannia !  Britannia  rules  the 
waves  !  "  and  then  stopped,  and  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  Lord,  Lord  1  "  with  rapturous  be- 
wilderment. But  when  Dan  whistled  "  And 
have  you  not  heard  of  a  jolly  young  water- 
man?" and  the  birds  answered,  "  Oh,  yes! 
we  have  heard  of  a  jolly  young  waterman," 
and  proceeded  to  narrate  where  that  jolly 
young  waterman  plied,  and  how  dexterous- 
ly that  jolly  young  waterman  feathered  his 
oars,  the  Old  Sailor  was  fairly  duml'ound- 
ered,  and  sat  down  in  silence,  and  watched 
and  listened,  while  Dan  put  the  birds 
through  the  whole  of  their  performances. 

Ah,  what  a  happy  day  was  that  —  never, 
never  to  be  forgotten  1  As  he  lay  in  his  ham- 
mock, with  a  delicious  sense  of  rest  upon 
him,  he  saw  pleasure-boats  and  barges  float- 
ing down  with  the  tide,  with  a  happy  indo- 
lence in  keeping  with  every  thing  about 
him.  What  else  ?  Bright  visions  in  the 
clouds  ;  not  for  himself,  but  for  his  friend, 
his  brother  Joshua;  bright  visions  of  beau- 
tiful lands  and  beautiful  seas.  What  did 
the  Old  Sailor  say?  Gardens  in  the  sea, 
with  the  flowers  growing  and  blooming ! 
He  saw  them  in  the  clouds ;  and  each  flower 
was  bright  with  beauty,  and  each  petal  was 
rimmed  with  light.  Fields  in  the  skies  1 
There  they  were,  stretching  far,  far  away  ; 
and  some  one  was  walking  through  forests 
of  wild  flowers  and  strange  trees.  W^ho 
was  it  ?  Joshua  !  And  there  were  the  par- 
rots that  the  Old  Sailor  had  spoken  of,  with 
their  feathers  of  blue  and  gold  and  scarlet 
and  silver.  But  Dan  happiuied  to  turn  his 
eyes  fi-om  the  clouds  to  the  water,  and 
dreamland  faded.  Joshua  was  rowing  on 
the  river. 

Bravo,  Joshua!  How  strong  he  looked, 
with  his  shirt-sleeves  tucked  up  to  his 
shoulders ;  and  how  well  he  managed  his 
oars  !  Not  that  Dan  was  much  of  a  judge  ; 
but  he  knew  what  grace  was,  and  surely  he 
saw  that  before  him  when  he  saw  Joshua 
rowing.     Joshua  looked  at  Dan,  and  smiled 


42 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


and  nodded  ;  and  Dan  clapped  his  hands. 
And  Joshua,  to  show  how  clever  he  was, 
made  a  great  sweep  with  the  oars,  and  fell 
backwards  in  the  boat,  in  a  most  ridiculous 
position,  with  his  heels  in  the  air.  But  he 
was  up  again  like  lightning,  and  recovered 
his  oars,  and  made  so  light  of  it,  that  Dan, 
who  had  caught  his  breath  for  an  instant, 
laughed  merrily  at  the  mishap,  and  thought 
it  was  good  fun.  His  laugh  was  echoed  by 
Ellen,  who  was  sitting  by  his  side,  and  who 
had  also  been  a  little  alarmed  at  first.  The 
industrious  maid  was  making  holiday  in  her 
own  peculiar  way.  She  was  not  accustomed 
to  sit  idly  down  with  her  hands  in  her 
lap.  By  some  mysterious  means  she  had 
obtained  possession  of  two  of  the  Old  Sail- 
or's shirts  which  required  mending  ;  and 
there  she  was  stitching  away  at  them,  as  if 
it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
for  her  to  do  when  she  came  out  for  a  holi- 
day. Did  she  have  a  design  upon  the  Old 
Sailor  ?  It  really  looked  suspiciously  like 
it,  if  one  might  judge  from  the  demure 
glances  she  cast  upon  him  every  now  and 
then,  and  from  the  admiring  manner  in 
which  he  returned  her  artful  glances.  One 
thing  was  certain  :  she  had  fairly  captivated 
him ;  and  there  is  no  telling  what  might 
have  occurred,  if  he  had  been  thirty  years 
younger. 

What  more  beautiful  phase  of  liuman 
nature  can  be  seen  than  that  of  an  old  man 
with  a  young  heart  ?  Place,  side  by  side, 
two  pictures  of  old  manhood  :  one,  with 
crafty  face ;  with  cautious  eyes  that  never 
rove  ;  with  compressed  lips  that  keep  guard 
on  every  word ;  with  puckered  forehead 
and  eyebrows,  from  every  ugly  crevice  in 
which  the  spirit  of  "  You  can't  take  me  in  " 
peeps  out,  as  if  the  essence  of  a  fox  were  in 
hiding  there  ;  —  the  other,  with  open  face, 
which  says,  "  Read  me  ;  I  am  not  ati-aid  ;  " 
with  eyes  that,  be  they  large  or  small,  en- 
joy what  they  see;  with  full-fleshed 
wrinkles  on  Ibrehead  and  eyebrows  ;  with 
lips  that  smile  when  others  smile. 

No  younger  heart  ever  beat  in  the  breast 
of  an  old  man  than  that  which  beat  in  the 
breast  of  Praiseworthy  Meddler.  He  had 
never  mingled  with  children ;  yet  here  he 
was,  at  nearly  seventy  years  of  age,  a  hale 
and  hearty  old  man,  with  a  nature  as  simple 
as  a  child's.  What  was  it  that  made  him 
so  ?  Was  it  because  he  had  lived  his  youth 
and  manhood  away  from  cities,  where  the 
tricky  webs  of  trade  teach  men  to  trick  as 
their"  brethren  do,  or  where  the  anxiety  how 
to  live,  and  with  many,  alas,  how  to  get  to- 
morrow's bread,  stops  the  generous  flow  of 
a  generous  nature,  and  robs  litie's  summer 
of  its  brightness  ?  Or  did  he  inherit  it  ? 
If  so,  how  deserving  of  pity  are  those  chil- 
di-en   who    are    boru    of   crafty   parents ! 


There  are  human  mysteries  which  science 
has  not  dared  to  probe,  and  there  are  in- 
herited ills  and  calamities  which  philan- 
thropists, up  to  the  present  time,  have  not 
tried  to  get  to  the  root  of. 

Anyhow,  here  was  Praiseworthy  Meddler 
sitting  upon  the  deck  of  his  barge  by  the 
side  of  Ellen,  showing  her,  in  the  intervals 
of  stitching,  how  to  splice  a  broken  rope, 
and  initiating  her  into  the  mysteries  of 
short-splice,  long-splice,  and  eye-splice. 
Dan,  looking  on,  begged  some  rope,  and 
proved  himself  a  womlerfully-apt  scholar, 
which  caused  the  Old  Sailor  to  remark,  — 

"  You  ought  to  be  a  sailor,  my  lad  ;  "  for- 
getting for  the  moment  that  Dan's  legs  were 
useless. 

"  I  should  have  to  work  in  a  hammock, 
sir,"  said  Dan  cheerfully. 

The  Old  Sailor  blushed. 

"  I  forgot,"  he  said  in  a  gentle  voice. 

"  There's  the  sailor  for  you,  if  you  like," 
said  Dan,  pointing  to  Joshua,  who,  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  away,  was  pulling  lazily 
towards  the  barge. 

"  Ay,  a}',  my  lad  ;  Joshua  has  the  right 
stuff  in  him.  He  will  be  a  fine  strong 
man." 

"  He  is  better  than  strong,  sir,"  said  Dan  ; 
"  he  is  noble  and  tender-hearted.  If  you 
knew,  sir,  how  good  he  has  been  to  me,  you 
would  admire  and  love  him  more.  If 
you  knew  how  gentle  he  has  been  to  me  — 
how  tender,  and  how  self-sacrificing  —  you 
would  think  even  better  of  him  than  you  do. 
We  have  been  together  all  our  lives  ;  every 
day  he  has  come  to  me  as  regularly  as  the 
sun,  and  has  been  to  me  what  the  sun  is  to 
the  day.  I  look  back  now  that  he  is  going 
away,  and  I  cannot  remember  that  he  la;is 
ever  given  me  a  cross  word  or  a  cross  look. 
And  I  have  been  very  troublesome  some- 
times, and  very  peevish ;  but  he  has  borne 
with  it  all.  Look,  sir,"  and  Dan  drew  the  Old 
Sailor's  attention  to  two  pieces  of  rope,  one 
thin  and  one  thick,  the  strands  of  which  ha 
had  been  interweaving,  "  this  thin  rope  is 
me ;  this  thick  rope  is  Joshua.  Now  we 
are  spliced,  and  you  can't  pull  us  apart. 
Joshua  and  me  are  friends  for  ever  and 
ever !  " 

The  Old  Sailor  listened  attentively,  and 
nodded  his  head  occasionally,  to  show  that 
he  was  following  Dan's  words,  and  under- 
stood them.  Ellen,  having  mended  the  Old 
Sailor's  shirts,  sat  with  her  hands  folded  in 
her  lap,  indorsing  every  word  that  Dan  ut- 
tered. 

Just  then  Joshua  reached  the  barge,  and 
having  secureil  the  boat,  climbed  on  to  the 
deck.     As  he  did  so,  eight  bells  struck. 

"  Eight  bells,"  said  the  Old  Sailor. 
"  Dinner." 

With  that,  he  lifled  Dan  out  of  the  ham- 


A  HAPPY   HOLIDAY. 


43 


mock,  and  earned  him  to  where  dinner  was 
laid  on  a  table  which  extended  lore  and  aft 
down  the  centre  of  what  it  would  be  the 
wildest  extravagance  of  courtesy  to  call  a 
saloon,  and  where  every  thing  was  prepared 
in  expectation  of  a  storm.  Joshua  and 
Ellen  tbllowed,  and  the  four  of  them  made 
a  very  merry  party.  Lobscouse  and  sea-pie 
were  the  only  dishes,  and  they  were  brought 
in  by  a  Lascar  with  rings  in  his  ears,  whom 
the  Old  Sailor  called  a  "  lubberly  swab," 
because  he  was  unmistakably  drunk ;  and 
who  in  return,  notwithstanding  his  drunken 
condition,  cast  upon  the  Old  Sailor  an  evil 
look,  which  flashed  from  his  eyes  like  a 
dagger-stroke.  This  Lascar  was  the  man 
who  had  struck  eight  bells,  and  who  cooked 
for  the  Old  Sailor,  and  did  odd  work  about 
the  barge,  in  return  for  which  he  got  his 
victuals  and  a  bunk  to  sleep  in.  A  lazy, 
indolent  rogue,  who  would  do  any  thing, 
never  miud  what,  for  rum  and  tobacco ;  a 
cringing,  submissive,  treacherous  rogue, 
ripe  for  the  execution  of  any  villany  on 
the  promise  of  rum  and  tobacco;  a  rogue 
who  would  fawn,  and  lie,  and  stab,  and 
humble  himself  and  play  Bombastes  for 
rum  and  tobacco.  They  were  all  he  seemed 
to  live  for  ;  they  were  his  Thirty-nine  Arti- 
cles, and  he  was  ready  to  sell  himself  for 
them  any  day.  Of  what  quality  might  be 
the  work  proposed  to  him  to  do,  so  as  to 
earn  the  reward,  was  of  the  very  smallest 
consequence  to  him.  He  gave  Ellen  such 
an  ugly  look  of  wicked  admiration  that  she 
was  glad  when  he  was  gone. 

Dinner  over,  they  returned  to  the  deck, 
and  the  Old  Sailor  told  them  stories  of  the 
sea  —  stories  so  enthralling,  that  the  after- 
noon glided  by  like  a  dream ;  and  the  set- 
ting sun  was  tinged  with  the  glories  of  the 
distant  lands  whither  it  was  wending. 
They  had  tea  on  deck  —  a  delicious  tea,  of 
shrimps,  water-cresses,  and  bread-and-but- 
ter. The  task  of  preparing  the  tea  was 
performed  by  Ellen  and  the  Old  Sailor ; 
and  during  the  performance  of  this  task,  it 
may  be  confidently  stated  that  the  conquest 
of  the  Old  Sailor  was  completed,  and  that 
he  was  from  that  moment,  and  ever  after- 
wards, her  devoted  slave.  Then  they  went 
down,  and  sat  two  and  two  on  each  side  of 
the  tabic,  Joshua  and  Dan  being  on  one 
side,  and  Ellen  and  the  Old  Sailor  on  the 
other  ;  and  they  had  more  sea-stories,  and 
were  altogether  in  a  state  of  supreme  hap- 
piness. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  evening  the 
conversation  turned  upon  Joshua's  ap- 
proaching voyage. 

"  Always  bear  in  mind  the  sailor's  watch- 
word, my  lad,"  said  the  Old  Sailor. 
" '  Along  the  line  the  signal  ran  :  England 
expects  that  every  man  this  day  will  do  his 


duty.'  That's  meant  not  for  this  day 
alone,  but  tor  always.  What  a  sailor's  got 
to  do  is  to  obey.  Many  a  voyage  has  had 
a  bad  ending  because  of  a  saihjr's  forget- 
ting his  watchwoi'd.  Don't  you  forget  it, 
Josh." 

"  I  won't,  sir." 

"  The  '  Merry  Andrew,'  that  you're  going 
to  make  your  first  voyage  in,  is  a  line  ship  ; 
the  skipper  is  a  fine  skipper  —  a  man  he  is, 
and  that's  what  a  ship  wants  —  a  man,  and 
not  an  image."  The  Ohl  Sailor  said  this 
in  a  tone  of  exasperation,  inspired,  possi- 
bly, by  some  tantalizing  remembrance  of  a 
ship  commanded  by  an  image  instead  of  a 
man.  "  So  stick  to  your  watchword,  my 
lad.  It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  thing  now  if  we 
were  to  drink  to  it." 

The  cunning  old  rascal  was  only  too  glad 
of  a  chance  to  get  at  his  grog. 

"  Bravo  ! "  exclaimed  Dan,  clapping  his 
hands. 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  Hot  water, 
lemon,  sugar,  rum,  compounded  with  the 
skill  of  an  artist.  A  glass  for  Joshua,  a 
glass  for  Dan,  a  glass  for  the  Old  Sailor, 
and  a  small  glass  for  Ellen.  Not  one  of 
them  seemed  afraid  of  it  —  not  even  Ellen. 

"Now  then,"  said  the  Old  Sailor,  smil- 
ing as  the  steam  rose  to  his  nostrils.  ''  Now, 
then  ;  the  sailor's  watchword  —  Duty,  and 
may  Jushua  never  forget  it !  " 

"  Duty,  Jo,"  said  Dan,  nodding  over  his 
glass  to  Joshua. 

"  Duty,  Dan,"  said  Joshua,  nodding  to 
Dan. 

Ellen  said  nothing  aloud,  but  whispered 
something  into  her  glass.  Then  they  drank 
and  sipped  their  grog,  and  resumed  the 
conversation. 

"  Have  you  been  to  New  Holland,  sir  ?  '* 
asked  Dan.  The  "  Merry  Andrew  "  was 
bound  for  New  Holland. 

"  I  was  there  when  I  was  a  youngster," 
replied  the  Old  Sailor,  mixing  a  second 
glass  of  grog  for  himself.  "It  was  a  wild 
country  tlaen ;  I  am  told  it  is  growing  into 
a  wonderful  country  now.  We  were  six 
months  going  out.  AVe  had  nearly  four 
hundred  convicts  aboard,  most  of  them  in 
irons.  A  miserable  lot  of  desperate 
wretches  they  were !  They  were  not  well 
treated,  and  they  knew  it.  AVe  had  to 
keep  close  watch  over  them  ;  if  they  could 
have  set  themselves  free  by  any  means  — 
they  talked  of  it  many  a  time  among  them- 
selves—  they  would  have  captured  the  ship, 
and  flung  us  overboard,  or  something 
worse.  AVe  landed  them  at  Port  Phillip, 
where  the  British  Government  wanted  to 
form  a  settlement." 

"  Why  New  Holland,  sir?"  asked  Dan, 
always  eager  for  information. 

"Discovered   by    the    Dutch    in    about 


44 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL, 


1600,"  replied  the  Old  Sailor  oratorically. 
"  Victoria  was  discovered  by  Capt.  Cook ; 
let  us  drink  to  him."  They  took  a  sip  — 
all  but  the  Old  Sailor,  who  scorned  sips. 
"  Discovered  by  Capt.  Cook  in  1 7  70,  after 
he  had  discovered  New  Zealand." 

"  Any  savages,  sir  ?  " 

"  Swarms.  We  were  out  in  a  boat  ex- 
ploring, and  when  we  were  close  in  shore, 
two  or  three  hundred  savages  came  whoop- 
ing down  upon  us.  We  weren't  afraid  of 
them ;  we  pulled  in  to  shore,  and  they 
stopped  short  about  twenty  yards  from  us, 
jabbering  like  a  lot  of  black  monkeys. 
They  soon  got  courage  enough  to  come 
closer  to  us,  and  we  gave  them  some  grog ; 
but  the  ignorant  lubbers  spit  it  out  of  their 
mouths  at  first.  Then  they  began  to  steal 
things  from  the  boat ;  and  when  we  gave 
them  to  understand  that  what  was  ours 
wasn't  theirs,  they  grew  saucy.  A  black 
fellow  caught  up  the  master's-mate,  and 
ran  away  with  him." 

"  AVhat  did  they  want  with  him,  sir  ?  " 

"  To  eat  him,  of  course.  We  fired  over 
their  heads,  and  they  dropped  the  master's- 
mate,  who  ran  back  to  us,  glad  enough  to 
get  free,  for  he  didn't  relish  the  idea  of  being 
made  a  meal  of.  But  when  the  savages 
found  that  the  guns  didn't  hurt  them,  they 
came  whooping  up  to  us  again,  flourishing 
their  spears.  Their  faces  were  painted,  and 
they  had  swans'  feathers  sticking  out  of 
their  heads.  Some  of  them  had  skin  cloaks 
on,  painted  all  over  with  figures  of  naked 
men,  and  some  of  them  had  bones  stuck 
through  their  nostrils.  On  they  came,  yell- 
ing and  leaping  like  so  many  devils,  think- 
ing what  a  tine  roast  the  fattest  of  us  would 
make.  Then  we  fired  and  killed  one  of 
them.  Directly  they  saw  him  fall,  they 
scampered  off  like  madmen." 

When  the  conversation  flagged,  they 
had  music  and  singing.  Joshua  jDlayecl, 
and  Dan  sang  a  song,  and  the  Old  Sailor 
sang  a  good  many.  The  best  of  the  Old 
Sailor's  songs  was,  that  they  were  all  about 
the  sea,  and  that  every  one  of  them  had  a 
chorus  in  which  the  company  could  join. 
Of  course  he  sang  "  Heave  the  Lead,"  and 
"  Yeo,  heave,  ho  !  To  the  windlass  let  us 
go,  with  yo,  heave  ho !  "  and  "  Saturday 
Night  at  Sea ;  "  and  when  "  Saturday  niglit 
did  come,  my  boys,  to  drink  to  Poll  and 
Bess,"  he  flourished  his  glass,  and  drank  to 
those  young  ladies  with  a  will.  The  num- 
ber of  lovely  ladies  with  whom  the  Old 
Sailor  made  them  acquainted  was  some- 
thing astonishing.  Poor  Jack  had  his 
Poll,  whom  he  addressed  in  a  not  very  dig- 
nified manner,  when  he  said  to  her,  — 

"  What  argufies  sniv'ling  and  piping  your  eye  ? 
Why  what  a — {hem! )  fool  you  must  be  I  " 


Out  of  respect  for  Ellen,  the  Old  Sailor 
coughed  over  a  good  many  words  in  the 
songs  he  sang ;  for  it  must  be  confessed 
that  there  was  more  swearing  in  them  than 
was  absolutely  necessary.  Poor  Jack,  how- 
ever, who  called  his  Poll  a  something  fool, 
made  up  for  it  in  the  end  by  declaring  that 
"  his  heart  was  his  Poll's  "  (a  very  pretty 
though  somewhat  trite  sentiment),  and  "his 
rhino's  his  friend's "  (a  very  unwise  and 
foolish  sentiment,  as  the  world  goes).  Then 
there  was  a  Polly  whom  the  lads  called  so 
pretty,  and  who  entreated  her  sweetheart, 
before  he  sailed  in  the  good  ship  the 
"  Kitty  "  to  be  constant  to  her ;  and  who, 
when  he  returned  Avithout  any  rhino,  turned 
up  her  nose  at  him,  as  young  women  do  now 
and  then.  Then  there  were  Poll  in  ''  My 
Poll  and  my  partner  Joe  "  (it  was  wonderful 
how  faithless  the  Polls  were),  and  Poll  in 
"  Every  inch  a  Sailor,"  who,  when  poor 
Haulyard  came  home  in  tatters,  swore 
(very  unfeminine  of  her)  that  she  had  never 
seen  his  face.  But  honest  Ned  Haulyard 
was  a  philosophical  sailor,  for  he  some- 
thing'd  her  for  a  faithless  she,  and  singing 
went  again  to  sea.  The  Nancies  were  a 
better  class  of  female  :  — 

"  I  love  my  duty,  love  my  friend, 
Love  truth  and  merit  to  defend, 

To  moan  their  Joss  who  hazard  ran; 
I  love  to  take  an  honest  part. 
Love  beauty  with  a  spotless  heart, 

By  manners  love  to  show  tlie  man; 
To  sail  through  life  by  honor's  breeze  — 
'Tvvas  all  along  of  loving  these 

Fii'st  made  me  dote  on  lovely  Xan." 

And  so  on,  and  so  on,  with  gentle  Anna 
and  buxom  Nan ;  and  poor  Fanny,  who 
drowned  herself  in  the  waves  near  to  the 
place  where  hung  the  trembling  pines ; 
and  poor  Pege;y,  who  loved  a  soldier  lad  (a 
marine,  without  doubt) ;  and  bonny  Kate, 
who  lived  happily  afterwards  with  Tom 
Clueline.  Ellen  joined  in  the  choruses 
with  her  sweet  voice ;  but,  strange  to  say, 
she  had  not  been  asked  to  sing  until  the 
Old  Sailor,  struck  perhaps  by  a  sudden  re- 
morse at  monopolizing  the  harmony,  called 
upon  her  for  a  song.  Ellen,  nothing  loth, 
asked  what  song ;  and  Joshua  said,  — 

"  Sing  the  song  you  learned  of  mother, 
Ellen." 

"  '  Bread-and-Cheese  and  Kisses  ? ' "  in- 
quired Ellen. 

"  Yes,  '  Bread-and-Cheese  and  Kisses.' 
Tisn't  quite  a  girl's  song,  sir  "  (to  the  Old 
Sailor)  ;  "  but  it  is  a  good  song,  and  Ellen 
sings  it  nicely." 

"  Hooray,  then,  for  '  Bread-and-Cheese 
and  Kisses  ! '  "  cried  the  Old  Sailor,  cast- 
ing a  glance  of  intense  admiration  at 
Ellen,  who,  without  more  ado,  sang  as 
follows :  — 


MINNIE  AND   HEP.  SHELL. 


45 


BKEAD-AND-CHEESE  AND  KISSES. 

One  clay,  when  I  came  home  fatigued, 

And  felt  inclined  to  grumble. 
Because  my  life  was  one  of  toil, 

Because  my  lot  was  humble, 
I  said  to  Kate,  my  darling  wife, 

In  wliom  my  whole  litWa  bliss  is, 
"  What  have  you  got  for  dinner.  Kate  ?" 

"  Why,  brcad-iiud-cheese  and  kisses  I  " 

Thougli  worn  and  tired,  my  heart  leaped  up 

As  tliosc  plain  words  slie  uttered. 
Why  should  I  envy  those  whose  bread 

Thau  mine's  more  thickly  buttered? 
I  said,  "  We'll  have  dessert  at  once." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  she  a.-ked.    •'  Why,  this  is." 
I  kissed  her.    Ah,  what  sweeter  meal 

Than  bread-and-cheese  and  kisses  I 

[  gazed  at  her  with  pure  delight ; 

tilie  nodded  and  smiled  gayly; 
I  said.  •'  My  love,  on  such  anieal 

I'd  dine  with  pleasure,  daily. 
Wlien  I  buttliink  of  you,  dear  girl, 

I  pity  those  line  misses 
Who  turn  tlieir  noses  up  and  pout 

At  brtad-and-cheese  and  kisses. 

And  when  I  look  on  your  dear  form, 

And  on  your  face  so  homely; 
And  when  I  look  in  your  dear  eyes,  ' 

And  on  your  dress  so  comely: 
And  when  I  hokl  you  in  my  arms, 

I  laugh  at  Fortune's  mis.^es. 
I'm  blessed  in  you.  content  Avith  you, 

And  bread-and-cheese  and  kisses." 

Thus  ended  the  happy  day. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

MINNIE   AND   HER   SHELL. 

So  the  simple  ways  of  Joshua's  simple 
life  were  drawing  to  a  close.  He  had 
chosen  his  career,  and  to-morrow  he  would 
be  at  the  end  of  the  quiet  groove  in  which 
he  had  hitherto  moved,  and  would  step 
upon  rougher  roads,  to  commence  the  bat- 
tle which  dooms  many  a  fair-promising  life 
to  a  despairing  death,  and  out  of  which  no 
one  comes  without  scars  and  wounds  which 
art  and  time  are  jjowerless  to  heal.  To- 
morrow he  was  to  leave  a  father  almost  too 
indulgent ;  a  mother  whose  heart  was  as 
true  in  its  motherly  affection  for  hinf  as  the 
needle  is  to  the  pole ;  a  friend  who  gave 
him  a  love  as  tender  and  as  pure  as  that 
which  angels  could  feel. 

During  the  past  week  he  had  been  busily 
engaged  in  leave-taking,  and  he  had  been 
stu'prised  to  find  what  a  number  of  friends 
he  had.  There  was  not  one  of  the 
poor  neighbors,  in  the  poor  locality  in 
which  he  had  passed  his  boyhood's  days, 
who  had  not  kind  words  and  good  wishes 
for  him,  and  who  did  not  give  them  hearti- 
ly and  without  stint.  Many  a  hearty 
hand-shake  from  men  whose  hands  he  had 
never  touched  before,  and  many  a  motherly 


kiss  from  women  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  saying  only  "Good-morning"  to,  did 
Joshua  receive.  There  is  a  stronger  knit- 
ting of  aifection  between  poor  people  in 
])oor  ncighborhocjds  than  there  is  among 
the  rich  in  their  wider  thoroughfares.  Per- 
haps it  is  the  narrow  streets  that  draw 
them  closer  to  each  other;  perhaps  it  is 
the  common  struggle  to  keej)  body  and 
soul  together  in  which  tluy  are  all  en- 
gaged ;  perhaps  it  is  the  unconscious  rec- 
ognition of  a  higher  la'v  of  humanity  than  • 
prevails  elsewhere  ;  perhaps  it  is  the  absence 
of  the  wider  barriers  of  exclu.'^iveness,  amonw 
which  the  smaller  and  more  beautiful  flow- 
ers of  feeling  —  being  so  humble  and 
unassuming  —  are  in  danger  of  being  lost 
or  overlooked.  Anyhow  the  ties  of  affec- 
tion are  stronger  among  the  poor.  Putting 
necessity  and  sickness  aside,  more  mothers 
nurse  their  babes  from  love  among  the 
poor  than  among  the  rich. 

The  secret  of  this  unanimity  of  good- 
will towards  Joshua  lay  in  his  uniformly 
quiet  demeanor  and  affectionate  disposi- 
tion. The  wonderful  friendship  that  e:> 
isted  between  Dan  and  Joshua  was  a 
household  word  in  the  jjoor  homes  round 
about ;  there  was  something  so  beautiful  in 
it,  that  they  felt  a  pride  in  the  circum- 
stance of  its  having  been  cemented  in 
their  midst;  and  many  tender-hearted 
women  said  that  night  to  their  husbands, 
that  they  wondered  what  Dan  would  do 
now  that  Joshua  was  going  away.  "  And 
Josh,  too,"  the  husband  would  reply;  "do 
you  think  he  won't  miss  Dan  ?  "  But  the 
women  thought  mostly  of  Dan  in  that  re- 
lationship. The  romance  of  the  thing  had 
something  to  do  with  this  general  interest 
in  his  welfare.  Here  was  a  young  man, 
one  of  their  own  order,  born  and  bred 
among  them,  who,  from  no  contempt  of 
their  humble  ways  of  life,  but  from  a  dis- 
tinct desire  to  do  better  than  they  (not  to 
be  better;  that  they  would  have  resented), 
had  resolved  to  go  out  into  the  world  to 
carve  a  way  for  liimself.  It  was  brave 
and  manly ;  it  was  daring  and  heroic. 
For  the  world  was  so  wide  I  Cooped-up 
as  tJiei/  were,  what  did  they  know  of  it  ? 
What  did  they  see  of  it  ?  Those  of  them 
—  the  few  —  wdio  worked  at  home  in  their 
once-a-week  shirt-sleeves,  could  raise  their 
eyes  from  their  work,  and  see  the  dull 
prospect  of  over  the  way ;  or,  resting 
wearily  from  their  monotonous  labor,  could 
stroll  to  their  street-doors,  and  look  up  and 
down  the  street  in  a  meaningless,  purpose- 
less manner :  like  automatons  in  aprons, 
with  dirty  faces  and  very  black  finger-nails, 
coming  out  of  a  box  and  performing  a 
task  in  which  there  was  necessarily  no 
sense  of  enjoyment. 


46 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


Those  of  tbem  —  the  many  —  who  toiled 
in  workshops  other  than  their  homes,  saw 
with  the  rising  and  the  setting  of  every  sun 
a  tew  narrow  streets  within  the  circumfer- 
ence of  a  mile,  mayhap.     Moving  always 
in  the  same  groove,  trudging  to  their  work- 
shops every  morning,  trudging  home  every 
night  —  it  was  the  same  thing  for  them  day 
after  day.     The  humdrum  course  of  time 
was   only   marked    by   the    encroachment 
of  gray  hairs  and  white;  or  by  the  patch- 
iu'^f-uj)  of  the   poor  furniture,   which   grew 
more  rheumatic,  and  groaned  more  dismally 
evei'y  succeeding  season;  or  by  the  crack- 
inc  and  dismemberment  of  cups  and  saucers 
and  plates ;  or  by  the  slow  death  of  the  im- 
possible figures  on  the  tea-trays  —  figures 
which  were  bright  and  gay  once  upon  a 
time,  as  their  owners  wei'e  upon  a  certain 
happy  wedding-day.     Here,  as  a  type,  are 
three  small  mugs,  the  letters  upon  which 
are  either  quite  fadeil  away,  or  are  denoted 
by  a  very  mockery  of  shrivelled  lines,  as 
if  their  lives  were  being  drawn  out  to  the 
last  stage  of  miserable  attenuation.     Once 
they  pi'oclaimed  themselves  proudly,   and 
in  golden  letters,  "  For  George,  a  Birth- 
day   Present;"    "For    Mary    Ann,    with 
Mother's   Love ; "    "  Charley,   for   a    Good 
Boy."    George  and  Mary,  Ann  and  Charley 
used  to  clap  their  little  hands,  and  swing 
their  little  legs  delightedly,  when  they  and 
the  mugs  kept  company  at  breakfast  and 
tea-time ;  but  now  flesh  and  crockery  liave 
grown  old,  and  are  fading  away  in  common. 
The  hair  on  George's  head  is  very  thin,  al- 
though he  is  not  yet  forty  years  of  age ; 
Mary   Ann   is   an   anxious-looking  mother, 
with   six   dirty   children,  who,    as   she   de- 
clares twenty  times  a  day,  are  enough  to 
wony  the  lite  out  of  her ;  and  Charley  has 
turned  out  any  thing  but  "  a  Good  Boy," 
being    much    too    fond    of   public-houses. 
With  such  like  uninteresting  variations,  the 
lives  of  George  and  Mary  Ann  and  Charley 
were  typical  of  the  lives  of  all  the  poor 
people  amongst  whom  the  Marvels  lived. 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  every  thing 
the  same  ;  the  same  streets,  the  same  break- 
fasts, the  same  dinners,  the  same  unevent- 
ful routine  of  existence,   the   only  visil)le 
signs  upon  the  record  beiiig  the  deepening 
of  wrinkles   and   the   whitening  of  hairs. 
But  they  were  happy  enough,  notwithstand- 
ing ;  and  it  their  pulses  were  stirred  into 
quicker  motion  when  tliey  shook  Joshua's 
hand  and  wished  him  good  luck,  there  was 
no  envy  towards  liim  in  their  minds,  and 
no  feeling  of  discontent  marred  the  genu- 
ineness of  their  God-speed.     When  at  can- 
dle-time they  spoke  of  Joshua  and  of  the 
worUl  which  he  was  going  to  see,  some  of 
the  women   said  that  it  would  have  been 
better  if  "  you,  John,"  or  "  you,  William," 


"had  struck  out  for  yourself  when  you 
were  young ;  "  and  John  and  William  as- 
senting, sighed  to  think  that  it  was  too 
late  for  them  to  make  a  new  start.  AVell, 
their  time  was  past;  the  tide  which  they 
might  have  taken  at  the  flood,  but  did  not, 
would  never  come  again  to  their  life's 
shore.  Joshua  had  taken  it  at  the  flood, 
and  would  be  afloat  to-morrow  ;  good  luck 
be  with  him !  In  the  heartiness  of  their 
good  wishes  there  was  no  expressed  con- 
sciousness that  there  was  as  much  heroism 
in  their  quiet  lives  as  in  the  lives  of  great 
heroes  and  daring  adventurers ;  which  very 
unconsciousness  and  unexpressed  abnega- 
tion made  that  heroism  (begging  Mv.  Rus- 
kin's  pardon  for  calling  it  so)  all  the 
grander. 

Joshua  had  bidden  the  Old  Sailor  good- 
by.  The  dear,  sirapl  e  old  fellow  had 
given  Joshua  some  golden  rules  to  go  by ; 
had  enjoined  him  to  be  respectful  and  sub- 
missive ;  to  learn  all  he  could  ;  to  be  cheer- 
ful always,  and  to  do  his  work  willingly, 
however  hard  it  seemed ;  not  to  mix  him- 
self up  in  the  men's  quarrels  or  grumblings; 
had  told  him  how  that  some  officers  were 
querulous,  and  some  were  tyrannical,  but 
that  he  could  always  keep  himself  out  of 
mischief  by  obeying  orders ;  and  had  im- 
pressed upon  him,  more  particularly  than 
all,  the  value  of  the  golden  motto  —  Duty. 
"  Keep  that  for  your  watchword,  my  lad," 
said  the  Old  Sailor,  "  and  you  will  do." 

"I  am  glad  it  is  nearly  all  over,"  said 
Joshua  to  ban.  "  I  have  only  two  or  three 
more  to  say  good-by  to,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  mother  and  father,  and  Ellen  and 
you,  dear  Dan." 

"  There's  Susan,  Jo,"  said  Dan  afler  a 
pause.  "  I  wish  you  could  see  her  before 
yon  go." 

"  1  wish  so,  too.     I  am  going  now  to  say 
orood-by  to  Minnie  and  her  father." 
"  Is  he  better,  Jo  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  him  for  a  week ;  but  I 
don't  think  he  is  ever  quite  right  here;** 
touching  his  forehead. 

They  were  speaking  of  the  street  actor, 
whose  name  was  Basil  Kindred. 

"  And  Minnie  is  very  pretty,  you  say." 
"  Very   pretty,   but   with   such    strange 
ways,  Dan,  as  I  have  told  you  before." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dan,  looking  earnestly  at 
Joshua. 

"  Sometimes  like  a  woman,  which  she  ii 
not;  sometimes  like  a  little  child,  which 
she  is  not.  Yet  for  all  she  is  so  strange, 
one  can't  help  loving  her,  and  pitying 
her." 

"  Is  she  at  all  like  Ellen,  Jo  ?  " 
"Minnie  is  not  like  Ellen," said  Joshua, 
considering.      "  Ellen's   face   is   calm   and 
peaceful;     Minnie's     is     grander,     larger. 


MINNIE   AND   HER  SHELL. 


47 


Minnie  is  the  kind  of  Jiirl  for  a  heroine, 
and  Ellen  is  not,  I  think.  She  is  too 
peaceful.  Say  that  Ellen  is  like  a  hike, 
Minnie  is  like  the  sea. 

A  (juiet  smile  passed  over  Dan's  lips,  yet 
a  regreti'ul  one,  too. 

"  You  don't  know  Ellen,  Jo,"  he  said 
simply.     "  (jive  uie  the  lake." 

"  And  me  the  sea,"  said  Joshua,  not. 
meaning  it  at  all  with  reference  to  the  girls, 
but  literally,  with  reference  to  his  choice 
of  a  })rofessi()n. 

From  the  first  part  of  this  conversation 
it  will  be  gathered  that  Susan  Taylor  had 
left  her  home,  and  had  chosen  to  keep  her 
residence  a  secret  from  her  family.  She 
was  not  to  blame  for  it ;  for  she  had  been 
most  unhappy  in  the  tamily  mansion  of  the 
Taylors.  Although  she  earned  her  own 
living,  and  paid  for  her  board  and  lodging, 
her  father,  a  drunken,  lazy  mechanic, 
had  lately  been  pestering  her  for  small 
loans,  to  be  spent,  of  course,  at  the  public- 
house.  These  she  could  not  aflford  to  give 
him;  and  when  he  found  that  she  would 
not  assist  him,  he  quarrelled  with  her.  He 
twitted  her  about  her  ungainly  person, 
jeered  at  her  strange  mannerisms,  pricked 
her  with  domestic  pins  and  needles,  and 
made  her  life  so  miserable,  that  she  was 
glad  when  the  culminating  quarrel  gave 
her  the  opportunity  to  run  away. 

She  had  never  had  a  friend.  Nearly 
every  girl  has  a  girl-companion  with  whom 
she  exchanges  little  confidences,  and  whom 
she  consults  as  to  the  fashion  of  the  new 
bonnet,  and  how  it  is  to  be  trimmed,  the 
pattern  of  the  new  dress,  and  how  many 
llounces  it  is  to  have,  the  color  of  the  new 
piiece  of  ribbon,  and  how  it  should  be  worn, 
the  personal  appearance  and  intentions  of 
the  last  new  admirer,  and  how  he  is  to 
be  treated.  Susan  never  had  such  a  com- 
panion ;  worse  than  that,  she  never  had  a 
sweetheart.  She  had  grown  to  woman's 
estate  without  ever  having  experienced  the 
pleasures  of  courtship,  either  as  a  child  or 
as  a  woman.  No  little  boy  had  taken  a 
liking  to  her  when  she  was  a  little  girl ; 
and  when  she  grew  to  be  a  young  woman, 
no  young  man  had  cast  a  favorable  eye 
upon  her.  Sooth  to  say,  there  was  nothing 
singular  in  the  circumstance ;  for  she  was 
as  little  attractive  externally,  as  a  young 
woman  well  could  be. 

If  it  were  necessary  to  define  and  de- 
scribe her  with  brevity,  a  happy  definition 
and  description  might  be  given  in  two  sim- 
ple words  —  Joints  and  Knobs.  Susan 
Taylor  was  all  Joints  and  Knobs,  from  the 
crown  of  her  head  to  the  soles  of  her  feet. 
Tliere  was  not  a  straight  line  about  her ; 
every  square  inch  of  her  frame  was  broken 
by  a  joint  or  intersected  by  a  knob.     Her 


face  did  not  contain  one  perfect  feature. 
Bones,  with  sharp  rugged  outlines,  asserted 
themselves  in  her  cheeks,  in  her  chin,  in  her 
nose  (most  aggressively  there),  and  in  the 
arches  of  her  eyes.  Her  shoulders  were 
suggestive  of  nothing  but  salt-cellars ;  her 
fingers  were  covered  with  knuckles  ;  her 
arms  were  all  elbows ;  and  her  knees,  as 
she  walked,  forced  themselves  into  notice 
with  offensive  demonstrativeness.  There 
was  nothing  round  and  soft  about  her. 
Every  part  of  her  was  suggestive  of  Bone; 
she  was  so  replete  with  mysterious  and  com- 
plicated angles  that  she  might  be  said  to 
resemble  a  mathematical  torture.  Her  an- 
gular proportions,  broken  here  by  a  joint,  or 
intersected  there  by  a  knob,  did  not  agree 
with  one  another.  As  not  one  of  them 
would  accept  a  subordinate  position,  they 
were  necessarily  on  the  very  worst  of  terms  : 
like  a  regiment  in  which  every  soldier  in- 
sisted on  being  colonel,  and  struggled  for 
the  position.  The  result  was  Anatomical 
Confusion. 

Cupid  is  popularly  represented  to  be  a 
mischievous  young  imp,  who  delights  in  ty- 
ing persons  together  who  are  not  in  the 
least  suited  to  each  other,  and  as  being  so 
reckless  and  indiscriminate  in  the  use  of  the 
metaphorical  arrow,  which  he  is  everlast- 
ingly fixing  to  that  metaphorical  bow  with 
such  malicious  nicety,  that  the  right  man 
seldom  finds  himself  in  the  right  place,  and 
the  right  woman  is  similarly  unfortunate. 
As  a  consequence  of  this  eccentric  and  in- 
human conduct,  long  men  and  short  women 
and  long  women  and  short  men,  get  ab- 
surdly matched,  and  the  mental  disparity 
is  often  found  to  be  no  less  than  the  dispar- 
ity in  limb  and  bulk.  But  never,  surely, 
did  that  tricksy  youngster  (who  is  so  conve- 
nient to  writers  as  a  reference,  and  in  vari- 
ous other  ways,  that  they  cannot  be  sufficient- 
ly grateful  for  his  mythological  existence) 
play  a  stranger  prank  than  when  he  made 
Susan  Taylor  and  Basil  Kindred  acquainted 
with  each  other.  The  evening  on  which 
Susan,  for  the  first  time,  saw  Basil  Kindred 
act  the  Ghost  scenes  in  "  Hamlet,"  marked 
an  era  in  her  life  not  less  important  than  that 
sad  era  which  was  commenced  by  her  letting 
her  brother  Daniel  fall  from  her  arms  out 
of  the  window  on  to  the  cruel  stones.  For 
if  ever  woman  fell  in  love  (which  is  so  vio- 
lently suggestive  that  it  may  well  be  doubted) 
with  man,  Susan  Taylor,  on  that  evening, 
fell  in  love  with  Basil  Kindred. 

But  Susan  was  not  the  woman  to  exhibit 
her  passion  in  words.  In  another  fashion 
she  did  exhibit  it :  in  the  best  fashion  that 
devotion  can  show  itself —  in  deeds.  She 
was  not  a  cunning  woman,  nor  a  wise  one 
either.  Being  from  the  very  infirmities  of 
her  nature  a  kind  of  social  outcast,  she  was 


48 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


not  likely  to  consider  what  the  world  would 
say  of  any  action  of  hers.  And  here  was 
an  anomaly  ;  she  was  neither  foolish  enough 
nor  wise  enough  to  consider  what  the  world 
would  say  ;  yet  had  she  considered  that 
her  conduct  was  open  to  censure,  she  would 
not  have  swerved  a  hair's  breadth  because 
of  the  world's  opinion  ;  and  this  very  inde- 
pendence proceeded  not  from  a  hardened 
nature,  but  from  a  nature  utterly  simple. 
So  she  did  what  a  very  considerable  major- 
ity of  the  busy  bees  in  this  busy  world  would 
consider  either  a  very  foolish  thing  or  some 
thincj  worse.  When  she  left  her  home  she 
rented  a  room  in  the  miserable  house  in  which 
Basil  Kindred  and  his  daughter  resided.  She 
did  this  because  she  loved  him ;  and  yet 
looking  for  no  return  of  her  passion,  she 
did  it  so  that  she  might  make  herself  useful 
to  him  and  to  Minnie.  The  Uving  she 
earned  as  a  dressmaker  was  a  poor  and 
a  scanty  one  enough  ;  but  she  managed,  out 
of  her  small  earnings,  to  contribute  some 
little  towards  the  comfort  of  the  couple 
whose  ac(iuaintance  she  had  so  strangely 
made. 

Joshua  was  always  certain  of  a  warm 
welcome  from  Basil  and  Minnie ;  an  affec- 
tionate intimacy  had  sprung  up  between 
theoi,  and  he  had  spent  many  a  pleasant 
hour  in  their  company.  But  in  the  first 
flush  of  their  intimacy  he  had  been  sorely 
puzzled  by  Basil  Kindred's  strange  ways 
and  oft-times  stranger  remarks  ;  the  wan- 
dering restlessness  of  his  eyes,  and  the  no 
less  wandering  nature  of  his  speech,  engen- 
dered grave  doubts  whether  he  was  quite 
right  in  his  mind.  And  as  Joshua  looked 
fi-om  Basil's  fine  mobile  face  to  that  of  his 
daughter,  so  like  her  father's  in  all  its  grand 
and'beautiful  outlines,  it  distressed  him  to 
think  that  her  intellect  also  might  be  tainted 
with  her  father's  disease.  It  might  not  be  ; 
it  might  be  merely  the  want  of  proper  moral 
training  that  induced  her  to  be  so  strangely 
incoherent,  so  reckless  and  defiant,  and  yet 
at  the  same  time  so  singulaidy  tender  in  her 
conduct.  With  Minnie  every  thing  was 
right  or  Avi'ong  according  to  the  way  in 
which  it  affected  herself.  She  recognized 
no  general  law  as  guiding  such  and  such  a 
principle  or  sentiment.  There  was  this 
similai-ity  and  this  difference  between  Min- 
nie and  Susan :  they  both  ignored  the 
world's  opinion  and  the  world's  judgment 
of  their  actions.  But  where  Susan  would 
be  meek,  Minnie  would  be  defiant ;  where 
Susan  would  oft^end  through  ignorance, 
Minnie  would  offend  consciously,  and  be  at 
the  same  time  ready  to  justify  herself  and 
argue  the  point;  which  latter  she  would  do, 
of  course,  only  from  her  point  of  view. 
Supposing  that  it  could  be  reduced  to 
weights  and  measures,  Llinuie  would  have 


been  content  to  place  herself  and  her  affec- 
tions on  one  side  of  the  scale,  and  all  the 
world  on  the  other,  with  the  positive  con- 
viction that  she  would  tip  the  scale. 

She  was  very  affectionate  and  docile  to 
Joshua ;  she  looked  up  to  him  with  a  kind 
of  adoration,  and  this  tacit  acknowledgment 
of  his  superiority  was  pleasing  to  his  vanity. 
He  was  her  hero,  and  she  worshipped  him, 
and  showed  that  she  did  so ;  and  he,  too, 
dano-erously  regarding  her  as  a  child,  re- 
ceived her  worship,  and  was  gratified  by  it. 
And  so  she  drifted. 

Now  as  he  entered  the  room,  Minnie 
sprang  towards  him  with  a  joyous  exclama- 
tion, and  taking  his  hand,  held  it  tightly 
clasped  in  hers  as  she  led  him  to  a  seat. 
The  room  was  not  so  bare  of  furniture  aa 
it  was  when  he  first  saw  it.  He  looked 
round  for  Basil  Kindred. 

"  Father  is  not  at  home,  Joshua,"  said 
Minnie.  "  He  will  be  in  soon,  I  dare  say." 
She  pushed  him  softly  into  a  chair,  and  sat 
on  the  ground  at  his  feet.  "  I  am  so  glad 
you  have  come  1 " 

"  But  I  don't  think  I  have  time  to  stay." 

"  You  mustn't  go ;  you  mustn't  go,"  said 
Minnie,  drawing  his  arm  round  her  neck. 
"  I  shall  be  so  lonely  if  you  do." 

"  But  you  were  alone  before  I  came  in, 
Minnie." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Minnie  ;  "  but  I  did  not 
feel  lonely  then.  I  shall  now,  if  you  go 
away." 

"  Then  I  will  stop  for  a  little  while,"  said 
Joshua,  humoring  her. 

"  Always  good!  "  said  Minnie  gratefully, 
resting  her  lips  upon  her  hand,  "always 
good ! " 

"  Why  did  you  not  feel  lonely  before  I 
came,  Minnie  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking." 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  long,  long  ago,  when  father  was 
different  to  what  he  is  now." 

"  It  could  not  have  been  so  long,  long 
ago,  little  Minnie,"  —  here  came  a  little 
caressing  action  from  the  child,  —  "  you  are 
only  —  how  old  ?  " 

"  Fourteen." 

"  And  fourteen  years  ago  is  not  so  long, 
long  ago,  little  Minnie." 

Minnie  repeated  her  caressing  action. 

"  To  you  it  isn't  perhaps,  but  it  is  to  me. 
It  seems  almost,"  she  said,  placing  Joshua's 
hand  upon  her  eyes,  and  closing  them,  "  as 
if  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Yet  I  must 
have  had  ;  for  mother  was  mixed  up  with 
what  I  was  thinking. 

'•  But  I  shall  think  of  something  else  now 
that  you  are  here,"  she  said  pi-esently.  "I 
am  going  to  listen." 

With  the  hand  that  was  free  she  took 
something  trom  her  pocket,  and  placing  it 


MINNIE   AND   HER  SHELL. 


49 


to  her  ear,  bent  her  head  closer  to  the 
ground.  She  was  so  loni;  in  that  attitude 
of  watcliful  siienc-e,  that  Joshua  cried  "  Min- 
nie 1 "  to  arouse  her. 

"  IIusli  1  "  she  said  ;  "  you  must  not  inter- 
rupt me.  I  am  Ustening.  I  can  almost 
hear  it  speak." 

"  Hear  what  speak  V  "  asked  Joshua, 
wondering. 

INIinnie  directed  his  fingers  to  her  ear, 
and  he  i'elt  something  smooth  and  cold. 

"  It  is  a  shell,"  she  said  sottly,  "  and  I 
am  listening  to  the  sea." 

"  Ah,"  said  Joshua  in  a  voice  as  soft  as 
hers,  "  that  is  because  I  am  going  to  be  a 
sailor." 

"  For  that  reason.  Yes.  Call  me  little 
Minnie." 

"  Little  Minnie  I  "  said  Joshua  tenderly  ; 
for  Minnie's  voice  and  manner  were  very 
winsome,  and  he  could  not  help  thinking 
how  quaintly  pretty  her  fancy  was. 

"  Little  Minnie,  little  Minnie  !  "whispered 
Mnnie  in  so  soft  a  tone  that  Joshua  could 
scarcely  hear  it,  —  ''  little  Minnie,  little 
Minnie  !  The  sea  is  singing  it.  How  kind 
the  sea  is !  and  how  soft  and  gentle !  I 
should  like  to  go  to  sleep  like  this." 

"  Does  the  shell  sing  any  thing  else,  lit- 
tle Minnie  ?  " 

"  Listen  !  All,  but  you  cannot  hear  1  It 
is  singing,  '  Little  Minnie,  little  Minnie, 
Joshua  is  going  to  be  a  sailor.  Little  Min- 
nie, little  Minnie,  would  you  like  to  go  with 
him  V ' " 

"  And  you  answer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !  I  should  like  to  go 
with  him,  and  hear  the  sea  always  singing 
like  this.  I  should  like  to  go  with  him  be- 
cause " —  But  here  Minnie  stopped. 

"  Because  what  V  " 

"  Because  nothing,"  said  Minnie,  taking 
the  shell  from  her  ear.  "  Now  the  sea  is 
gone,  and  the  singing  is  gone,  and  we  are 
waiting  at  home  for  father." 

"  What  for,  Minnie  ?  What  am  I  wait- 
ing at  home  for  father  for  ?  " 

"  To  see  him  of  course,"  answered  Min- 
nie. 

"  And  to  wish  him  and  you  good-by," 
said  Joshua. 

"  Good-by ! "  echoed  the  child,  with  a 
sudden  look  of  distress  in  her  large  gray 
eyes.     "  So  soon  1  " 

"  Yes.     My  ship  sails  to-morrow." 

"  And  this  is  the  last  day  we  shall  see 
you,"  she  said,  her  tears  falling  upon  his 
hand. 

"  The  last  day  for  a  little  while,  little 
Minnie,"  he  said,  striving  to  speak  cheer- 
fully. 

"  For  how  long  ?  "  asked  the  child,  bend- 
ing her  head,  so  that  her  fair  hair  fell  over 
her  face. 


"  For  a  year,  perhaps,  Minnie,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  For  a  long,  long  year,"  she  said  sor- 
rowfully. "  You  will  not  do  as  mother  did, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  How  was  that  ?  " 

"  She  went  away  from  us  one  afternoon, 
and  was  to  come  back  at  night.  And  it 
rained  —  oh,  so  dreadfully  I  —  that  night. 
We  were  lodging  under  some  trees,  father, 
mother,  and  I.  Father  was  ill  —  very  ill, 
but  not  with  the  same  kind  of  illness  that 
he  has  now  sometimes.  He  had  a  fever. 
And  mother  went  into  the  town  to  get 
something  for  us  to  eat  —  as  you  did  that 
night  when  the  bad  boys  threw  a  stone  at 
father,  and  you  brought  him  home.  When 
father  woke  we  went  in  search  of  her.  But 
I  never  remember  seeing  mother  again. 
And  you  are  going  away,  and  perhaps 
I  shall  never  see  you  again." 

"  What  does  the  shell  say,  Minnie  ?  " 

ISlinnie  placed  the  shell  to  her  ear. 

"  I  cannot  make  out  any  thing,"  she  said 
in  a  voice  of  pain.  "  It  isn't  singing  now  ; 
it  is  moaning  and  sighing." 

He  took  the  shell  and  listened. 

"  It  will  speak  to  me,  because  I  am  a 
sailor." 

"  And  it  says  ?  "  asked  Minnie  anxious- 
ly- 

"  And  it  says  —  no,  it  sings  — "  Little 
Minnie,  little  IMinnie,  Joshua  is  going  to  sea, 
and  Joshua  will  come  back,  please  God,  in 
a  year,  Avith  beautiful  shells  and  wonderful 
stories  for  you  and  all  his  friends.  So,  little 
Minnie,  little  Minnie,  look  happy  ;  for  there 
is  nothing  to  be  sorrowful  at." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Minnie  in  less  sorrowful 
tones,  '•  if  I  was  a  woman,  and  loved  any- 
body very  much,  I  would  not  let  him  go 
away  by  himself." 

"  Why,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  would  follow  him."  And  she  pulled 
Joshua's  head  down  to  hers,  and  whispered, 
"  I  should  like  to  go  to  sea  with  you." 

"  Would  you  indeed,  miss  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  for  I  love  you,  oh,  so  much  1 " 
whispered  the  child  innocently  in  the  same 
low  tones.  "  But  you  wouldn't  let  me  go, 
would  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  not.  A  nice  sailor  you 
would  make ;  a  weak  little  thing  like 
you  !  " 

The  girl  sprang  from  her  crouching  atti- 
tude, and  stood  upright.  As  she  did  so, 
expressing  in  her  action  what  her  meaning 
was,  Joshua  noticed  for  the  first  time  that 
she  was  growing  to  be  large-limbed  and 
strong.  She  tossed  her  hair  from  her  face, 
and  said,  — 

"  Father  says  I  shall  be  a  tall  woman." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,"  she  repeated  half-proudly  and 


50 


JOSHUA  MARVEL, 


half-bashfuUy,  "  I  should  not  make  such  a 
bad  sailor,  after  all."  And  then,  with  a 
motion  thoroughly  childlike,  she  knelt  on 
the  gi-ound  before  bim ;  and  placing  her 
elbows  on  his  knees,  rested  her  chin  in  her 
upturned  palms,  and  looked  steadily  into 
his  face.  "  If  I  was  a  woman,"  she  said 
slowly  and  earnestly,  "  I  would  go  with  you, 
even  if  you  would  not  let  me." 

"  How  would  you  manage  that  ?  " 

"  I  would  follow  you  secretly." 

"  You  must  not  say  so,"  said  Joshua  re- 
provingly ;  '•  it  would  be  very,  very  wrong." 

"  To  follow  any  one  you  loved  ?  "  ques- 
tioned the  child,  shaking  her  head  at  the 
same  time  to  denote  that  she  had  no  doubt 
whether  it  would  be  right  or  wrong. 
♦'  Wrong  to  wish  to  be  with  any  one  you 
loved  V  It  would  be  wrong  not  to  wish  it. 
But " —  and  she  looked  round,  as  if  fearful, 
although  they  were  alone,  lest  her  resolu- 
tion sliould  become  known  — "  nobody 
should  know  ;  I  would  not  tell  a  living 
soul." 

Joshua  was  silent,  puzzled  at  Minnie's 
earnestness.  Minnie,  with  the  shell  at  her 
ear,  soon  broke  the  silence,  however. 

"  Has  your  friend  —  the  boy  you  have 
told  me  about " — 

"  Dan  V  " 

»  Yes,  Dan.     Has  Dan  got  a  shell  ?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  thought 
of  it." 

•'  And  yet  he  loves  you  very  much,  and  a 
shell  is  the  only  thing  that  can  bring  the 
sea  to  him." 

"  Who  gave  you  the  shell,  Minnie  ?  " 

"  No  one. " 

"  How  did  you  get  it,  then  ?  " 

"  I  took  it  from  a  stall." 

"  O  iSIinnie  1  "  exclaimed  Joshua, 
grieved  and  shocked;  "that  was  very 
wicked." 

"  I  know  it  was,"  said  IVIinnie  simply ; 
"  but  I  did  it  for  you.  Two  days  afterwards, 
when  father  had  money  given  to  him,  I 
asked  him  for  some,  and  he  gave  it  me.  I 
went  to  the  stall  where  the  shells  were, 
and  asked  the  man  how  much  each  they 
were.  '  A  penny,'  he  said.  I  gave  him 
two  pence  and  ran  away.  That  was  good, 
wasn't  it  Y  " 

Joshua  shook  his  head. 

"  It  was  very  wicked  to  steal  the  shell ; 
and  I  don't  think  you  made  up  for  it  by 
paying  double  when  you  got  the  money." 

But  Minnie  set  her  teeth  close,  and  said 
between  them,  "  It  was  wicked  at  first,  but 
it  wasn't  wicked  afterwards,  was  it,  shell  ?" 
—  She  listened  with  a  coaxing  air  to  the 
shell's  reply.  —  "  The  shell  says  it  wasn't'. 
Jesides,  I 'did  it  for  you;  Dan  wouldn't 

ive  done  it." 

V'JNo,  that  he  wouldn't." 


"  Shows  he  doesn't  love  you  as  much  as  I 
do,"  muttered  Minnie  with  jealous  intona- 
tion. "  If  he  did,  he  would  have  thought 
of  a  shell,  and  would  have  got  it  somehow. 
If  he  did,  he  would  go  with  you,  and  would 
never,  never  leave  you  !  " 

"Now,  Minnie,  listen  to  me." 

"  I  am  listening,  Joshua."  She  would 
have  taken  his  hand  ;  but  he  put  it  behind 
his  back,  and  motioned  her  to  be  still. 
She  knew  by  his  voice  that  something  un- 
pleasant was  coming,  and  she  set  her  teeth 
close. 

"  You  know  that  it  is  wrong  to  steal,  and 
you  stole  the  shell." 

"  I  did  it  for  you,"  she  said  doggedly. 

"  That  does  not  make  it  right,  Minnie.  I 
want  you  to  give  me  a  promise." 

"  I  will  promise  you  any  thing  but  one 
thing,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  that." 

"  Never  mind.  You  would  never  guess, 
so  you  will  never  ask  me.  What  am  I  to 
promise  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  never  steal  any  thing 
again." 

"  Do  you  think  I  ever  stole  any  thing  but 
the  shell,  then  ?  "  she  asked,  with  an  air 
that  would  have  been  stern  in  its  pride  if 
she  had  not  been  a  child. 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Joshua's  tongue  to 
say,  "  I  don't  know  what  to  think ;  "  but  her 
manner  of  putting  the  question  gave  the 
answer  to  it.  "  No,"  he  said  instead,  "  I 
don't  think  you  ever  did,  Minnie." 

Her  head  was  stubbornly  bent  ;  and  she 
had  enough  to  do  to  keep  back  her  tears. 
She  woukl  not  have  succeeded  had  his  an- 
swer been  different. 

"  No,  I  never  stole  any  thing  else.  Stole 
is  the  proper  word,  I  know  ;  but  it  is  a 
nasty  one,  and  makes  me  ashamed." 

"  That  is  your  punishment,  Minnie,"  said 
Joshua,  wondering  at  himself  for  his  tena- 
ciousness. 

"  That  is  my  punishment,  then,"  said 
Minnie  not  less  doggedly  than  before  ;  "  but 
I  did  it  for  you  " —  nothing  would  drive  her 
f i-om  that  stand-point  —  "  and  I  promise  you, 
Joshua,  that  I  will  never  steal  any  thing 
again — never,  never  !  " 

He  gave  her  his  hand,  and  she  took  it 
and  caressed  it. 

"  And  now,  Minnie,  about  Dan,"  he  said. 
"  You  must  not  say  or  think  any  thing  ill  of 
him.  He  is  the  best^hearted  and  the  dear- 
est friend  in  the  world ;  and  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  much  I  love  him,  or  how  much  he 
loves  me." 

"  Why  doesn't  he  go  to  sea  with  you, 
then  ?  " 

Joshua  looked  at  her  reproachfully. 

"  Your  memory  is  not  good,  Minnie.  He 
is  lame,  as  I  told  you." 


GOOD-BY. 


51 


"  I  forjrot.  He  can't  go  because  ho  is 
lame.  Would  he  go  if  his  legs  were 
sound  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  would." 

"  Uon't  think,"  Minnie  said,  with  a  ply 
look  at  him  ;  "  be  sure." 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  then." 

"Caught!"  cried  Minnie,  clapping  her 
hands,  the  sly  look,  in  which  there  was 
simplicity,  changing  to  a  cunning  one,  in 
which  there  was  craft.  "  Caught,  caught, 
caught ! " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how,"  said  Joshua. 
"  How  ridiculous  of  you,  Minnie,  to  cry 
'  Caught !  '  as  if  I  was  a  fox  !  " 

"  No,  I  am  the  fox,"  she  cried,  shaking 
her  hair  over  her  flice  with  enchanting  grace. 
"  I  am  in  hiding  —  just  peeping  round  the 
corner."  She  made  an  opening  in  her  thick 
hair,  and  flai^hed  a  look  at  him  ;  a  look 
that  was  saucy,  and  cunning,  and  charming, 
and  wih'ul,  all  at  once.  "  Am  I  a  good 
fox  V  " 

"  You  are  a  goose.  Tell  me  how  I  am 
caught." 

"  Listen,  then,"  throwing  her  hair  back, 
and  becoming  logical.  "  Dan  loves  you  as 
well  as  any  man  or  woman  could  love 
another,  you  said." 

"  Did  I  say  as  well  ?  I  thought  I  said 
better.     I  meant  better." 

"  That's  no  matter.  Dan  loves  you,"  — 
she  held  up  her  left  hand,  and  checked  off 
the  items  on  her  fingers  —  "  that  is  one  fin- 
ger. And  Dan  would  go  to  sea  with  you ; 
and  it  would  be  right,  because  he  loves  you 
—  that  is  two  fingers.  But  Dan  can't  go^ 
because  he  is  lame  —  that  is  three  fingers. 
Now  I  love  you,  and  I  am  not  lame  —  that 
is  four  fingers.  And  it  would  not  be  wrong 
in  me  to  follow  you  —  and  that  is  my  thumb, 
the  largest  reason  of  all.  So  you  are  caught, 
caught,  caught,  you  see." 

"  I  do  not  see,"  said  Joshua  in  a  very  de- 
cided voice.  "  Dan  is  a  boy,  and  you  are 
a  girl ;  and  what  is  right  for  a  boy  to  do  is 
often  wrong  for  a  girl.  I  do  not  see  that  I 
am  caught." 

But  Minnie  had  relinquished  the  argu- 
ment. She  was  satisfied  that  she  was 
right. 

•'  And  you  would  really  be  very  angry 
with  me  if  I  did  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  should  be  very  angry  with  you  now, 
Minnie,  if  it  were  not  that  you  were  a  stu- 
pid little  girl,  just  a  trifle  too  fond  of  talk- 
ing nonsense.  Such  nonsense,  too  !  Why, 
there's  Ellen,  Dan's  sister,  she  wouldn't 
talk  so." 

All  the  brightness  went  out  of  Minnie's 
face,  and  a  dark  cloud  was  there  instead. 

Joshua  noticed  it  with  surprise.  He 
took  her  hand  gently ;  but  she  snatched  it 
away. 


"  Ellen  would  not  behave  like  that,"  he 
said  ;  '•  she  is  too  mild  and  gentle."  There 
came  into  his  mind  what  he  had  said  to 
Dan  of  the  two  girls  —  that  Ellen  was  like 
a  lake,  and  Minnie  like  the  sea ;  aud  he 
thought  how  true  it  was.  "  It  would  do 
you  good  to  know  her." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  her,"  said  Minnie 
sullenly,  "  and  1  don't  want  to  be  done  good 
to." 

"I  didn't  think  you  would  be  cross-tem- 
pered on  my  last  day  at  home,"  said  Joshua 
in  a  grave  and  gentle  voice.  He  paused, 
as  if  expecting  her  to  speak  ;  but  she  re- 
mained silent.  "  Ah,  well,"  he  said,  rising, 
"  I  shall  go  and  see  if  I  can  find  your  fa- 
ther." 

She  jumped  up  and  walked  with  him  to 
the  door. 

"  Say  that  you  are  not  angry  with  me," 
she  said  in  a  voice  of  the  softest  pleading, 
raising  her  face  to  his. 

He  would  have  made  a  different  reply, 
but  he  saw  that  her  face  was  covered  with 
tears. 

"  Angry  with  you !  "  he  said  kindly. 
"  WTio  could  be  angry  with  you  for  long, 
little  Minnie  ?  " 

•  She  smiled  gratefully  and  thoughtfully 
as  he  kissed  her ;  and  when  he  had  gone, 
and  she  had  heard  his  last  footstep,  she  re- 
turned to  her  old  place  upon  the  floor,  and 
crouching  down,  placed  the  shell  to  her  ear, 
and  listened  to  the  singing  of  the  sea. 

CHAPTER 

GpO»-lBY. 

Minnie's  obliviousness  of  what  was  right 
had  never  before  been  presented  so  clearly 
to  Joshua.  He  knew  well  enough  that 
Minnie,  although  she  was  aware  that  it  was 
wrong  to  steal,  could  not  understand  that 
she  did  wrong  in  stealing  the  shell.  At  the 
same  time  he  could  not  help  feeling  ten- 
derly towards  her  because  of  that  wrong 
action.  After  all,  how  much  she  was  to  be 
pitied  !  Could  it  be  wondered  at  that  slke 
was  hard  to  teach,  and  that  she  was  way- 
ward and  wilful,  living  such  a  lonely  life  as 
she  lived,  with  no  friend  to  counsel,  no 
mother  to  guide  her  ?  How  quaint  was 
her  fancy,  and  what  a  pretty  thing  it  was 
to  see  her  as  he  saw  her  in  his  imaginings 
—  sitting  alone  in  her  room,  with  the  shell 
at  her  ear,  listening  to  the  singing  of  the 
sea  1  With  what  a  daintily-caressing  mo- 
tion she  nestled  to  him  when  he  called  h  r 
"  Little  Minnie  !  "      He  repeated  the  r' 


52 


JOSHUA  MARVEL, 


words  to  himself,  "Little  Minnie,  little 
Minnie  !  "  as  he  walked  alon<r,  and  smiled. 
As  for  her  tellins;  him  that  she  would  like 
to  go  to  sea  with  him,  what  Avas  it  but  a 
childish  whnn?:ey  ?  If  he  had  not  contra- 
dieted  her,  and  made  a  matter  of  impor- 
tance of  it,  she  would  have  said  it,  and 
there  an  end.  She  would  like  to  go  to  sea 
with  him,  and  would  follow  him  if  she  were 
a  woman  :  Well !  she  was  but  a  child,  and 
the  wish  was  as  innocent  as  her  declaration 
that  she  loved  him. 

When  he  had  thought  out  all  this,  he 
thought  of  to-morrow,  and  looked  round  up- 
on the  fomiliar  streets  and  the  familiar 
houses  with  a  pang  of  regret.  To-morrow 
he  would  be  far  away  from  them,  and  every 
succeeding  day  would  take  him  farther  and 
farther  away  from  them  and  all  that  he 
loved.  From  mother,  lather,  the  Old  Sailor, 
his  pet  birds,  and  from  Dan  —  ah  !  dear, 
dear  Dan  !  Did  ever  boy  or  man  have 
such  a  friend  V  Then  there  was  Ellen,  his 
dear  little  sweetheart  in  the  days  when  they 
were  children  together.  Was  there  ever 
such  another  unselfish  little  maid  as  that  ? 
So  devoted,  so  tender,  so  loving  !  How 
quickly  she  had  won  the  heart  of  the  Old 
Sailor!  He  remembered  that  old  salt  say- 
ing, pointing  his  great  finger  at  Ellen  as  he 
said  it,  "Joshua,  my  lad,  that  little  lass 
there  is  the  prettiest,  the  best,  the  truest 
and  the  kindest-hearted  in  these  dominions." 
And  he  remembei'ed  himself  looking  at  El- 
len's mild  face  —  peaceful  as  a  lake  —  and 
saying,  "  So  she  is,  sir,"  and  meaning  it 
heartily ;  and  he  remembered  the  Old 
Sailor  saying,  "  That's  right,  my  lad  ;  all 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  mind  your  bearings." 
Although  he  had  answered,  "  Yes,  sir,  I 
will,"  he  wondered  afterwards,  and  he 
found  himself  wondering  now,  what  on 
earth  the  Old  Sailor  meant  by  saying, 
"  Mind  your  bearings."  But  what  matter  ? 
Ellen  was  the  prettiest,  the  best,  the  truest, 
and  the  kindest-hearted  lass  in  these  or  any 
other  dominions.     God  bless  her  ! 

As  he  thought  of  these  things,  he  felt 
himself  growing  so  soft-hearted,  that  he 
stopped  and  stamped  his  feet  upon  the 
pavement,  and  thumped  himself  upon  the 
chest,  saying;  as  he  did  so,  between  laugh- 
ing and  crying,  "  This  won't  do,  Josh ;  this 
won't  do." 

He  had  given  himself  a  score  of  thumps, 
and  had  said,  "  This  won't  do.  Josh,"  half- 
a^score  of  times,  when  loud  cries  for  help 
fell  upon  his  ears.  He  had  been  walking 
in  the  direction  of  the  river,  through  some 
of  the  streets  where  he  would  be  most  likely 
to  find  Basil  Kindred  ;  and  he  was  in  a  lo- 
cality where  there  was  a  number  of  low 
public-houses,  patronized  by  the  worst  class 
of  seamen.     Turning  in  the  direction  of  the 


cry,  Joshua  saw  a  woman  run  swiftly  out 
of  a  narrow  thoroughfare.  Pursuing  her 
was  a  man,  a  dark-looking  fellow,  with  glit- 
tering eyes,  and  rings  in  his  ears,  and  a 
knife  in  his  hand,  and  with  all  his  copper- 
colored  fingers  and  black-serpent  locks  of 
hair  flashing  in  the  air  with  evil  intent. 
Impelk'd  by  the  unmistakable  air  of  terror 
in  the  form  of  the  flying  girl,  and  the  un- 
mistakable air  of  mischief  in  the  form  of  the 
pursuing  man  —  partly,  also,  by  the  impul- 
sion born  of  the  hunting  spirit  implanted  in 
man  and  beast,  Joshua  started  off'  at  a  great 
pace,  and  flew  after  the  flying  couple. 

It  was  that  part  of  the  day  when  the 
neighborhood  was  most  quiet.  All  the 
men  were  at  work  in  the  dockyards,  and  the 
few  women  about  (having  a  wholesome 
horror  probably  of  a  man  with  an  open 
knife  in  his  hand,  and  being  perhaps  accus- 
tomed to  such  diversions)  seemed  disin- 
clined to  take  part  in  the  chase.  With  the 
exception  of  one  drunken  creature,  with  a 
blotched  and  bloated  face,  who  made  a 
frantic  motion  to  follow,  but  being  tripped 
up  by  her  draggling  petticoats,  stumbled, 
more  like  a  heap  of  rags  than  a  woman, 
into  the  gutter,  where  she  lay  growling  in- 
distinctly. 

The  flying  woman  and  the  pursuing  man 
were  fleet  of  foot,  but  Joshua  was  younger 
and  more  nimble  than  they.  As  he  gained 
upon  them,  a  dim  consciousness  stole  upon 
him  that  he  knew  them  ;  and,  as  he  ap- 
proached nearer,  the  doubt  grew  into  con- 
viction. The  almost  breathless  woman, 
throwing  affrighted  looks  behind  her,  as  if 
a  dozen  men  were  pursuing  her  instead  of 
one,  was  Susan  ;  and  the  evil-lo®king  man 
who  was  bent  on  running  her  down  was  the 
Lascar  who  served  the  Old  Sailor,  and  who 
cooked  for  him,  and  would  have  poisoned 
him  for  rum  and  tobacco.  Some  other  than 
those,  the  ruling  cravings  of  his  existence, 
influenced  him  now.  AH  the  passions  of 
love  and  hate,  and  the  desire  to  achieve  his 
purpose  by  striking  terror,  were  expressed 
in  every  motion  of  every  limb  :  they  were 
so  eloquent  and  earnest  in  the  savage  pur- 
suit that  they  seemed  to  proclaim  their 
owner's  intention,  as  he  raced  after  the 
panting  girl. 

He  was  almost  upon  her,  and  she  felt  his 
ugly  lips  reeking  their  detestable  flavor 
of  rum  and  tobacco  upon  her  neck,  when 
Joshua,  coming  up  to  him,  seized  him  by  the 
throat.  He  had  been  so  savagely  vindic- 
tive in  the  pursuit,  that  Joshua's  hand  upon 
his  throat  was  the  flrst  indication  he  re- 
ceived that  he  was  being  himself  pursued  ; 
but,  wasting  no  look  upon  his  pursuer,  he 
slipped  from  Joshua  like  an  eel  —  his  neck 
was  redolent  of  grease  —  and  with  an  inar- 
'ticidate  cry  of  rage  and   baffled   lust,  he 


GOOD-BY, 


63 


sprang  after  Susan  again,  who  had  gahicd 
a  few  steps  by  Joshua's  inedeetual  interpo- 
sition. But  Susan,  thoroughly  bewildered 
and  terrified,  turned  into  a  blintl  alley,  and 
perceiving  that  there  was  no  thoroughfiire, 
and  tliat  she  was  trapped,  I'ell  upon  the 
rou'di  stones,  pi'ostrate  troni  fear  and  ex- 
haustion. 

On  one  side  of  the  blind  alley  were  four 
or  five  houses,  in  which  no  signs  of  life  were 
visible.  They  seemed  stricken  to  death  by 
disease.  On  the  other  side  was  a  black 
dead  wall,  which  shut  out  the  sky.  Before 
the  Lascar  could  reach  Susan  —  what  the 
man's  intention  was,  or  what  he  would  have 
done  in  his  wild  fury,  he,  being  more  beast 
than  man,  might  probably  not  have  l)een  able 
to  explain  —  Joshua  had  knocked  the  knife 
out  of  his  hand,  and  had  knocked  him  down 
with  a  blow,  tlie  force  of  which  astonished 
Joshua  himself,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  ex- 
citement. Almost  before  Joshua  could 
reaUze  what  had  occurred,  the  cowardly 
Lascar  Avas  crouching  by  the  side  of  the 
dead  wall,  as  if  his  lair  were  there,  and 
Joshua  was  on  his  knee  assisting  Susan  to 
recover  herself;  keeping  a  wary  look,  how- 
ever, upon  the  knite,  which  was  lying  in 
the  i-oad  at  an  equal  distance  from  him  and 
the  Lascar.  The  Lascar  saw  it  too  —  saw 
it  without  looking  at  it,  and  without  seem- 
ing to  see  it.  A  surprising  change  had 
taken  place  in  him.  A  minute  since  a  vol- 
cano of  delii'ious  lust  was  raging  in  his 
breast,  and  every  nerve  in  his  body  was 
quivering  with  dangerous  passion;  now,  as 
if  by  magic,  he  was  coiled  up  like  a  snake, 
•with  no  motion  of  life  in  him  but  the  quiet 
glitter  of  his  eyes,  which  watched  every 
thing,  but  seemed  to  watch  nothing. 

"  What  is  it  all  about,  Susan  ?  "  asked 
Joshua  in  wonderment,  after  a  pause.  But, 
before  Susan  could  reply,  a  crawling  motion 
on  the  part  of  the  Lascar  towards  the  knife 
caused  Joshua  to  spring  into  the  road.  The 
snake  liad  no  chance  with  the  panther. 
The  Lascar  was  knocked  back  to  his  posi- 
tion by  the  dead  wall,  and  Joshua  stood 
over  him  grasping  the  knii'e.  This  was  the 
most  eventful  transaction  that  had  ever  oc- 
curred to  Joshua ;  and,  as  he  stood  over  his 
antagonist  palming  the  knite,  a  strange  sen- 
sation of  ])ride  in  his  own  strength  tingled 
through  his  veins.  There  was  blood  upon 
the  Lascar's  face  ;  Joshua  had  struck  him 
60  fiercely  as  to  loosen  one  of  his  teeth — so 
decidedly  to  loosen  it,  that  the  Lascar  put 
his  finger  into  his  mouth  and  drew  it  out. 
He  said  nothing,  however,  but  kept  the 
tooth  clasped  in  his  hand. 

"  You  black  devil !  "  exclaimed  Joshua, 
gazing  upon  the  crouching  figure  with  a 
kind  of  loathing  amazement.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  all  this  ?  " 


The  Lascar  wiped  the  blood  from  his 
mouth  with  his  sleeve,  and  shaking  the 
hair  ti-om  his  eyes,  threw  upon  Joshua  a 
covert  look  of  deadly  malice  —  a  look  ex- 
])rcssive  of  a  bloody-minded  craving  to 
liave  Joshua  helpless  on  the  stones  beneath 
him,  that  he  niiglit  press  the  life  out  of  his 
enemy.  His  eye  spoke,  but  his  tongue  ut- 
tered no  word.  Raging  inwardly  as  he  was 
with  bad  passion,  he  had  sullicient  control 
over  himself  to  suppress  any  spoken  mani- 
festation of  it.  I3ut  his  attitude  and  de- 
meanor were  not  less  dangerous  for  all 
that. 

"  He  follows  me  everywhere,"  said  Susan, 
still  gasping  and  panting  for  breath.  "  He 
dogs  me  by  day  and  by  night.  He  waylays 
me  in  the  dark,  and  I  can  hardly  get  away 
from  him." 

"  What  for  ?  "  demanded  Joshua,  Avith 
his  eve  upon  the  Lascar,  who  was  sitting 
cunningly  quiet,  nursing  his  W()unded  mouth. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Susan,  with  an 
appalled  look  over  her  shoulder,  as  if  she 
were  haunted  by  a  fear  that  the  spirit  of 
the  Lascar  was  there,  notwithstanding  that 
he  was  crouching  before  her  in  the  ugly 
flesh.     "  I  am  afraid  to  think." 

'■  Afraid  1  in  broad  daylight !  " 

"  Day  or  night  it  is  all  the  same,"  moaned 
Susan.  "Whenever  he  sees  me,  he  dogs 
me  till  I  am  ready  to  die.  You  don't  know 
his  power  —  you  don't  know  his  power  1 " 

"  What  were  you  doing  before  I  saw 
you  ?  " 

"  I  was  looking  for  some  one." 

"  For  whom  ?  " 

"  For  ]Vlr.  liindred,"  with  a  curious  hesi- 
tation. 

"  For  Mr.  Kindred  !  "  exclaimed  Joshua, 
more  amazed  than  ever ;  "  why  for  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  ill.  I  will  tell  you  about  it  by 
and  by,"  replied  Susan  nervously.  "  I 
thought  I  should  find  him  in  this  neighbor- 
hood, and  while  I  was  looking  for  him,  he  " 

—  pointing  to  the  Lascar  with  a  shudder 

—  "  he  saw  me  and  spoke  to  me,  and  would 
not  leave  me  —  wanted  me  to  go  with  him 
and  drink  with  him,  and  when  1  refused,  lie 
seized  me,  and  then  —  then  —  I  scratched 
liiui  —  ancl  —  I  don't  remember  any  thing 
more,  except  that  I  was  afraid  he  wanted 
to  kill  me." 

Joshua  looked  up  at  the  Lascar's  face, 
and  observed  the  scratch  for  the  first  time. 
It  was  a  long  scratch  dowuAvards  from  the 
eye  to  the  wounded  mouth.  The  Lascar 
made  no  attempt  to  hide  it,  but  sat  still, 
with  his  hand  on  his  mouth. 

"  Serve  you  right,  you  black  dog  ! "  ex- 
claimed Joshua.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
dosrging  her?  What  do  you  mean  by  fol- 
lowmg  her  with  a  knife?  -Why,  you  Lascar 
do"-,  for  two  pins  "  —  he  raised  his  hand 


54 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


indignantly,  and  advanced  a  step  towards 
the  Lascar,  who  made  a  sliriuklng  move- 
ment backwards,  although  in  truth  he  could 
not  get  nearer  to  the  dead  wall  than  he 
was  already. 

"  Don't,  Joshua,  don't  1 "  cried  Susan, 
seizing  his  arm,  and  clinging  to  him  im- 
ploringly. "  Don't  touch  him,  for  God's 
sake,  or  "  —  with  another  scared  look  behind 
her  —  '"he'll  haunt  you  as  he  haunts  me." 

A  taunting  wicked  smile  crossed  the 
Lascar's  lips,  but  it  was  gone  a  moment 
afterwards.  It  might  have  been  the  shadow 
of  an  evil  thought  finding  expression  there. 

"  How  does  he  haunt  you  more  than  you 
have  already  told  me  he  does  '?  "  demanded 
Joshua  in  a  great  heat.  "  You  don't  think 
he  can  frighten  me  as  he  frightens  you, 
Susan,  do  you  ?  The  black  dog  1  Look 
at  him  !  He's  frightened  of  a  white  man's 
httle  finger !  " 

"  Husii  1 "  implored  Susan.  "  He  haunts 
me  when  he  is  not  near  me." 

"  How  can  he  do  that,  you  foolish  girl  ?  " 

"  He  does  it  —  he  can  do  it  —  with  his 
double !  " 

"  His  double  ?  '* 

"  He  has  a  double  —  a  spirit,  a  wicked 
spirit "  —  she  turned  her  head  slowly  and 
trembled  in  every  limb ;  "  and  he  told  me  it 
should  haunt  me,  and  follow  me  wherever 
I  go.  And  it  does !  I  feel  it  behind  me 
when  I  don't  see  him.  It  is  there  now  !  It 
is  there  now  !  "  And  wrought  to  the  high- 
est pitch  of  mental  terror  and  excitement, 
Susan  threw  up  her  hands,  and  would  have 
fallen  to  the  ground  but  for  Joshua's  pro- 
tecting arm. 

The  taunting  smile  came  again  upon  the 
Lascar's  lips,  as  he  secretly  watched  Susan's 
terror.  With  a  special  maliciousness  he 
flashed  his  fingers  towards  her,  as  if  he 
were  issuing  a  command  to  his  double  not 
to  leave  her.  It  was  evidence  of  the  power 
he  possessed  over  her  weak  mind  that,  not- 
withstanding her  almost  fainting  condition, 
a  stronger  shuddering  came  upon  her  when 
he  made  even  that  slight  motion. 

Feeling  that,  for  Susan's  sake,  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  put  an  end  to  the  scene,  Joshua, 
with  an  indignant  motion,  commanded  the 
Lascar  to  leave  them.  The  Lascar  rose 
submissively,  like  a  whipped  dog,  and  so 
stood  with  bent  head  before  Joshua. 

"  Now  then,  what  are  you  waiting  for  ?  " 
asked  Joshua. 

"  My  knife,"  answered  the  Lascar  dog- 
gedly. 

'•  Not  likely,"  said  Joshua ;  "  I  know  you 
too  well  to  let  you  have  it." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  me  ?  "  asked  the 
Lascar  in  a  low  guttural  voice. 

"  I  have  heard  enough  of  you  from  Mr. 
Meddler"  —  the  Lascar  grated  his  teeth 


with  tigerish  ferocity  —  "  you  and  the  likes 
of  you.  I  know  how  free  you  are  with 
your  knives,  you  Lascars,  on  land  and  on 
sea.     Be  off  I  " 

"  My  knife  1 "  again  demanded  the 
Lascai",  with  his  eyes  directed  to  Joshua's 
feet ;  but  he  saw  Joshua's  face  and  every 
motion  of  Joshua's  body.  "  My  knife  1  It 
is  mine.     I  bought  it  and  paid  for  it." 

"  Stole  it  more  likely,"  said  Joshua  with 
a  sneer. 

"  It  is  a  lie.  I  bought  it.  Even  if  I  did 
steal  it,  you  have  no  right  to  it.  Give  me 
my  knife,  and  let  me  go." 

"  Joshua  reflected.  Clearly  he  had  no 
just  claim  to  the  man's  knife,  and  had  no 
right  to  retain  it.  His  mind  was  soon  made 
up.  Releasing  his  hold  of  Susan,  he  placed 
the  blade  beneath  his  foot,  and  broke  it  off 
close  to  the  handle.  Then  he  threw  the 
handle  and  the  blade  over  the  Lascar's 
head.  A  dangerous  fire  gleamed  in  the 
man's  downcast  eyes,  and  a  cold-blooded 
grating  of  teeth  came  from  his  mouth.  He 
stood  silent  for  a  few  moments,  with  Ms 
hands  tightly  pressed,  striving  to  master 
the  devil  that  was  raging  within  him.  But 
he  could  not  restrain  his  passion. 

"  Curse  you  !  "  he  hissed ;  "  I  owe  you 
something ;   I  will  pay  it  you,  by  hell !  " 

He  crouched  to  receive  the  blow  which  he 
expected  Joshua  would  give  him,  in  return 
for  his  curse.  But  no  blow  was  given  nor 
intended ;  yet  he  quivered  as  if  he  had 
been  struck  before  he  spoke  again. 

"  See  you  !  "  he  cried ;  "  I  never  forget 
—  never  —  never !  My  turn  will  come. 
You  called  me  black  devil " — 

"  So  you  are,"  said  Joshua  scornfully. 

"  And  black  dog  —  dog  of  a  Lascar ! " 

"  So  you  are." 

"  l''ou  shall  pay  for  it !  If  it  is  years  be- 
fore I  can  pay  you,  you  shall  be  paid  for  it  I 
See  you — remember!"  With  all  his  fin- 
gers menacingly,  as  if  each  was  possessed 
with  a  distinct  will,  and  was  swearing  ven- 
geance against  Joshua.  "  Y'^our  life  shall 
pay  for  it  —  more  than  your  life  shall  pay 
for  it !  "  He  spat  upon  the  ground  and  trod 
savagely  upon  the  spittle.  "  I  mark  you  — 
see !  "  With  his  forefinger  he  marked  a 
cross  in  the  air.  "  I  put  this  cross  against 
you  —  curse  you  !  " 

Susan,  gazing  on  with  sight  terror-fixed, 
saw  the  infuriated  man  stamp  upon  the 
stones,  as  if  he  had  Joshua's  life-blood  be- 
neath his  foot,  and  then  saw  the  cross 
marked  in  the  air.  The  fire  of  her  fevered 
imagination  gave  red  color  to  the  shadowy 
lines;  and  when  the  Lascar  lowered  liis 
forefinger,  she  saw  the  recorded  cross  stand- 
ing unsupported  in  the  air  —  a  cross  of 
bright  red  blood.  Fascinated,  she  gazed 
until  the  bright  color  faded  into  two  dusky 


GOOD-BY. 


55 


lines,  and  so  remained.  Joshua  laughed 
lightly  at  the  vindictive  action  and  the 
curse ;  yet  he  did  not  teel  quite  at  his  ease. 

"  Come,  Susan,"  he  said,  "  let  us  be 
going." 

But  Susan  did  not  move.  Every  sense 
was  absorbed  in  watching  the  dreadful 
cross  and  the  Lascar's  passion-ilistorted 
face.  lie.  stooping  to  pick  up  the  handle 
of  the  kiiit'e  ami  the  broken  blade,  turned 
again  upon  Joshua,  and  remained  faithl'ul 
to  his  theme. 

"  Don't  forget,"  he  said  in  his  low,  bad 
voice,  the  words  coming  slowly  from  a 
throat  almost  choked  with  passion.  "  By 
this  "  — plachig  his  hand  upon  his  wounded 
mouth  —  "  and  these  "  —  holding  up  the 
pieces  of  the  knife  —  "I  will  keep  you  in 
mind.  If  it  is  to-morrow,  or  next  week, 
or  next  month,  you  shall  be  paid  !  The 
dog  of  a  Lascar  never  forgets!  See  you 
—  remember  !  " 

"  Storm  away,"  said  Joshua,  drawing 
Susan  aside  to  allow  the  Lascar  to  pass. 
"  You  will  have  to  be  very  quick  about  it, 
for  to-morrow  I  go  to  sea." 

"  You  do,  eh  !  "  exclaimed  the  Lascar, 
with  another  harsh  grating  of  his  teeth, 
and  stopping  suddenly  in  his  course.  "  See 
you  now  —  take  this  with  you  for  my  good- 
by  !  "  With  a  swift  motion,  he  cut  his  fin- 
ger with  the  broken  blade,  and  shook  tlie 
blood  at  Joshua.  It  fell  in  a  sprinkle  over 
his  clothes,  and  a  drop  plashed  into  his  face. 
The  Lascar  saw  it,  and  laughed.  "  Take 
that  with  you  for  luck  !  "  he  cried.  "  By 
that  mark  I  shall  live  to  pay  you,  and  you 
will  live  to  be  paid  1 " 

So  saying,  he  turned  and  fled.  Joshua 
sprang  after  him,  but  the  man  was  out  of 
sight  in  a  minute.  Returning  to  Susan, 
Joshua  fjund  her  sitting  upon  the  pave- 
ment, nursing  her  knees  and  sobbing  dis- 
tressfully. 

"  O  Josh ! "  she  cried,  "  it  is  a  bad 
omen." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Joshua,  cooling  down 
a  little,  and  wiping  the  spot  of  blood  from 
his  face.  "  What  does  the  old  proverb  say  ? 
'  Curses  always  come  home  to  roost.'  Do 
you  hear  me  ?  " 

It  was  evident  that  she  did  not;  her 
fright  was  still  strong  upon  her.  With  a 
shrinking  movement  of  her  head,  she  looked 
slowly  round,  and  clutching  Joshua's  hand, 
whispered,  '•  For  pity's  sake,  don't  let  him 
come  near  me !  Hold  me  tight !  Keep 
close  to  me  !    He  is  not  gone !  " 

With  a  firm  and  gentle  force,  Joshua 
compelled  her  to  stand  upright. 

"  There  is  no  one  here  but  you  and  I," 
he  said,  in  a  firm  voice.  "  You  are  letting 
your  fancies  make  a  baby  of  you.  There  is 
no  one  here  but  you  and  I.     If  you  will  not 


believe  what  I  say  —  I  can  see,  I  suppose, 
and  I  am  calm,  while  you  are  in  a  regular 
fever  —  if  you  will  not  believe  what  I  say, 
I  shall  leave  you." 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  cried,  clinging  to  him. 

He  compelled  her  to  walk  two  or  three 
times  up  and  down  the  court.  His  decided 
action  calmed  her.  She  gave  vent  to  a 
sigh  of  relief,  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

'•  That's  right,"  said  Joshua  as  they 
walked  out  of  the  court.  "  Now  I  can  tell 
you  that  I  am  glad  I  have  met  you.  I  join 
my  ship  to-morrow." 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  going  away  so 
soon." 

"  I  am  going  now  to  see  if  ]Mr.  Kindred 
is  at  home." 

"  I  live  in  the  same  house  as  he  does," 
she  said,  looking  timidly  at  Joshua. 

"  That  is  strange.  Are  you  and  he  in- 
timate ?  " 

"  Yes.  They  are  poor,  you  know, 
Joshua." 

"  So  are  you,  Susey." 

"But  I  can  help  them  a  little.  He's 
often  ill,  and  ilinnie  isn't  strong  enough  to 
take  care  of  him,  and  so  I  ntu-se  him  some- 
times.    jVIinnie  and  I  are  great  friends." 

^Vhen  they  arrived  at  Basil  Kindred's 
poor  lodiiing,  Minnie  met  them  at  the 
door.  With  her  finger  to  her  lips,  she 
motioned  them  to  be  quiet. 

"  Tread  sol\ly,"  she  whispered ;  "  father 
has  come  home,  and  is  lying  down." 

They  walked  to  the  bed,  and  saw  Basil 
Kindred  lying  on  the  bed  in  unquiet  sleep. 
Susan  placed  her  hand  ou  his  hot  tbrehead, 
and  said,  — 

"  I  have  been  afraid  of  this  for  a  long 
time.  Josh.  He  has  got  a  fever.  What 
would  he  do  without  me  now  ?  " 

There  was  a  touch  of  pride  in  her  voice 
as  she  asked  the  question.  The  pride 
arose  from  the  conviction  that  the  man 
she  loved  really  needed  her  help,  and  fi'om 
the  knowledge  that  she  could  make  some 
little  sacrifice  for  him. 

'•  He  is  very,  very  ill,  I  think,"  whispered 
Minnie. 

"  We  will  make  him  well  between  us, 
Minnie,"  said  Susan. 

All  the  fears  by  which  she  was  assailed 
but  a  few  minutes  since  were  gone.  Joshua 
was  glad  to  see  that,  at  all  events. 

Minnie  took  Susan's  hand  gratefully,  and 
kissed  it. 

"  She  has  been  so  good  to  us,  Joshua," 
she  said. 

Susan's  eyes  kindled,  and  she  directed  to 
Joshua  a  look  which  saiil,  ■'  Have  I  not 
done  right  in  coming  to  live  here  ?  See 
how  useful  I  can  be,  and  how  happy  I  am  !  " 

"  I  shall  tell  them  at  home  where  you 
live,  Susey,"  said  Joshua. 


56 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


"  Very  well.  Give  my  love  to  Dan." 
Joshua  nodded,  and  bent  over  Basil  Kin- 
dred. The  action  disturbed  the  sleeping 
man.  He  seized  Joshua's  wrist  in  his  burn- 
ing hand,  and  said,  in  a  trembling  voice, 
•'  She  died  in  my  arras,  and  the  earth  was 
her  bed.  The  stars  were  ashamed  to  look 
upon  her.  AVell  they  might  be  I  Well 
they  might  be  !  " 

"  He  is  speaking  of  his  wife,"  said  Susan 
softly  to  Joshua.  "  He  loved  her  very 
dearly,  and  would  have  died  for  her.  When 
she  died,  his  heart  almost  broke." 

Sympathy  and  devotion  made  her  voice 
like  sweet  music.  Joshua  looked  at  her 
with  a  feeling  of  wonder,  and  was  amazed 
at  the  change  that  had  come  over  her. 
An  hour  ago,  she  was  crouching  in  drivel- 
ling terror,  overpowered  by  absurd  fancies  ; 
now  she  moved  about  cheerfully,  strong  in 
her  purpose  of  love.  But  he  had  never  in 
all  his  lite  seen  her  as  he  saw  her  now.  He 
bade  her  good-by,  and  she  wished  him  God- 
speed, and  kissed  him.  Minnie  accom- 
panied him  to  the  door. 

"  Good-by,  dear  little  Minnie,"  he  said. 
,  "  Good-by,"  she  said,  with  tears  in  her 
voice.     '•  You   forgive   me,  don't  you,   for 
what  I  said  this  afternoon  ?  "  ^ 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

"  Ah  !  1  like  to  hear  you  speak  like  that ; 
it  sounds  sweet  and  good.  Say, '  I  forgive 
you,  little  Minnie.'  " 

"  But  I  haven't  any  thing  to  forgive,  now 
I  come  to  think  of  it." 

"  Yes,  you  have.  You  say  that  out  of 
your  good  nature.  You  mustn't  go  away 
and  leave  me  to  think  that  you  are  angi-y 
with  me." 

"  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  Minnie.  After 
all,  what  you  did,  you  did  through  love, 
and  there  could  not  be  much  wrong  in 
it." 

The  brightest  of  bright  expressions  stole 
into  her  face,  and  she  clasped  her  hands 
with  joy. 

"  Say  that  again,  Joshua,  word  for  word, 
as  you  said  it  just  now." 

"  What  you  did,  you  did  through  love," 
repeated  Joshua  to  please  her,  "  and  there 
could  not  be  much  wrong  in  it." 

"  O  Joshua !  "  she  cried,  pressing  her 
hands  to  her  face,  "you  have  made  me 
almost  quite  happy.  I  laave  heard  father 
say  the  same  thing,  but  in  different  words. 
Now  I  shall  follow  you  to  sea.  Yes,  I 
shall,  with  this"  holding  up  her  shell. 
"  To-morrow  night,  and  every  night  that 
you  are  at  sea,  I  shall  listen  to  my  shell 
and  think  of  you." 

"  Stupid  little  Minnie,"  he  said  affection- 
ately. 

"  And  you  will  come  back  in  a  year  ?  " 
"  I  hope  so,  please  God." 


"  Then  I  shall  be  growing  quite  a  wo- 
man," she  said  thoughtfully. 

The  next  moment  she  raised  her  face 
quickly  to  his.  The  tears  were  streaming 
down  it.  As  he  bent  to  her,  she  caught 
him  round  the  neck,  and  kissed  him  once, 
twice,  thrice,  with  more  than  the  passion- 
ate affection,  but  with  all  the  innocence,  of 
a  child.  Then  she  ran  into  the  house ; 
and  Joshua,  taking  that  as  a  farewell, 
walked  slowly  homewards,  to  go  through 
the  hardest  trial  of  all. 

That  hardest  trial  through  which  he  had 
to  go  awaited  him  at  home.  All  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Marvel  family,  and  Dan  and 
Ellen  Taylor,  were  assembled  together  in 
the  old  familiar  kitchen.  They  were  all  of 
them  sad  at  heart,  and  made  themselves 
sadder  by  vain  little  attempts  to  be  cheer- 
ful. The  tea  was  a  very  silent  affair,  and 
the  two  or  three  extra  delicacies  provided 
by  Mrs.  Marvel  —  as  if  it  were  a  feast  they 
were  sitting  down  to  —  were  failures.  The 
most  remarkable  feature  about  the  tea  was 
the  preteuLie  they  all  made  to  eat  and 
drink  a  great  deal,  and  the  miserableness 
of  the  result.  They  pretended  to  accom- 
plish prodigies,  and  handed  about  the  bread- 
and-butter  and  the  cake  very  industriously, 
as  if  it  were  each  person's  duty  to  be 
mightily  anxious  about  every  other  person's 
appetite,  and  to  utterly  ignore  his  own. 
But  every  thing  in  the  Avay  of  eating  and 
drinking  was  a  mistake.  The  bread-and- 
butter  was  disregarded,  and  was  taken 
away  in  disgrace ;  the  cake  was  slighted, 
and  retireil  in  dudgeon.  It  was  a  relief 
when  the  tea-things  were  cleared.  Mrs. 
Marvel  was  the  bravest  of  the  party  ;  she 
who  had  so  strongly  ])rotested  against 
Joshua's  going  to  sea,  did  all  she  could  to 
administer  little  crumbs  of  comfort  to 
every  one  of  them,  and  especially  to  her 
husband,  who  had  so  heartily  encouraged 
Joshua  not  to  do  as  his  lather  liad  done 
before  him,  but  who  was  now  the  most 
outwardly  miserable  person  in  the  kitchen. 
Thus,  Mrs.  Marvel  sang  snatches  of  songs, 
and  bustled  about  as  if  she  really  enjoyed 
Joshua's  going,  and  was  glad  to  gt-t  rid  of 
him.  When  she  had  accomplished  a  good 
deal  of  nothing,  she  rose  and  did  nothing 
else ;  and  when  that  was  done,  she  sat 
down  and  remonstrated  with  her  good 
man,  and  would  even  have  rejoiced  if  she 
could  have  worried  him  into  blowing  her  up. 
"  Don't  take  on  so,  George,"  she  said ; 
"  you  ought  to  be  cheerful  to-night  of  all 
nights.  What  is  the  use  of  fretting? 
Joshua's  going  to  make  a  man  of  himself, 
and  to  do  good  for  all  of  us  —  ain't  you,  my 
dear  ?  " 
I      "  I  intend  it,  mother,  you  may  be  sure." 


GOOD-BY. 


67 


"  Of  course  yon  do ;  and  here  is  father 
in  the  dumps  when  he  ought  to  be  up  in 
the  skies." 

"  Some  day,  T  hope,"  said  George  Marvel, 
musterin'j;  up  spirit  to  liave  his  joke  in  the 
midst  of  his  sadness  ;  "  not  just  now,  thou^jjh. 
I  want  to  see  wliat  sort  of  a  figure  Josli 
will  cut  in  the  world  first.  Give  me  my 
pipe,  Maggie." 

Mrs.  Marvel  made  a  great  fuss  in  getting 
the  pipe,  knocking  down  a  chair,  and  cUxt- 
tering  things  about,  and  humming  a  verse 
of  her  favorite  song,  "  Breud-aml-Cheese 
and  Kisses  ;  "  and  really  made  matters  a  lit- 
tle less  sad  by  her  bustle.  Then,  instead  of 
handing  her  liusband  the  pipe  without 
moving  from  lier  seat,  as  she  might  have 
done,  she  maile  a  sweep  round  the  table, 
and  pinched  Ellen's  clieek,  and  patted  Dan 
on  the  head,  and  wiped  Iier  eyes  on  the  sly, 
and  kissed  Joshua,  and  so  worked  her  way 
to  George  Marvel,  and  put  the  pipe  be- 
tween his  lips. 

"  You  are  as  active  as  a  girl,  Maggie," 
said  George  Marvel,  putting  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  and  gently  detaining  her  by  his 
side. 

She  looked  down  into  his  eyes,  and  for 
the  life  of  her  could  not  help  the  tears 
gathering  in  her  own.  She  made  no 
further  attempts  to  be  cheerful ;  and  what 
little  conversation  was  indulged  in  occurred 
between  long  intervals  of  silence.  They 
had  an  early  supper ;  for  Joshua  was  to  rise 
at  daybreak.  Wlien  supper  was  over, 
George  Marvel  took  out  the  Bible,  and  in 
an  impressive  voice  read  from  it  the  one 
hundred  and  seventh  Psalm.  They  all 
stood  round  the  table  with  bent  heads, 
Joshua  standing  between  his  mother  and 
Dan,  cliisping  a  hand  of  each.  Very 
solemn  was  George  Marvel's  voice  when 
he  came  to  the  twenty-third  verse :  — 

"  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  that  do 
business  in  great  waters; 

These  see  the  works  of  the  Lord, and  His  wonders 
in  the  deep. 

For  lie  commandeth  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind, 
which  lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof. 

They  mount  up  to  the  heaven,  they  go  down 
again  to  the  depths;  their  soul  is  melted  because  of 
trouble. 

They  reel  to  and  fro,  and  stagger  like  a  drunken 
man,  and  are  at  llieir  wits'  end. 

Then  thoy  cry  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble, 
and  He  bringeth  them  out  of  their  distresses. 

He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that  the  waves 
thereof  are  still. 

Then  are  they  glad  because  they  be  quiet;  so  He 
bringeth  them  unto  their  desired  haven." 

When  the  reading  of  the  Psalm  was 
over,  and  they  had  stood  silent  for  a  little 
while,  they  raised  their  heads,  but  could 
Fcarcely  see  each  other  for  tiie  tears  in 
their  eyes.  Then  they  kissed,  and  said 
good-night ;  and  Joshua,  casting  a  wistful 
glance  round  the  kitchen,  every  piece  of 


furniture  and  crockery  in  which  appeared 
to  share  in  the  general  regret,  assisted  Dan 
up  to  his  I)edroom  for  the  last  time. 

They  had  scarcely  time  to  sit  down  before 
the  handle  was  gently  turned,  and  George 
Marvel  entered.  In  the  room  were  all 
Joshua's  little  household  gods  —  his  ac- 
cordion, his  favorite  books,  and  his  dear  lit- 
tle feathered  friends. 

George  Marvi-l  threw  his  arm  round 
Joshua's  waist,  and  drew  him  close. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the 
birds.  Josh  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Dan  will  take  care  of  them,  father." 

"Don't  fret  at  leaving  them  —  or  us. 
Be  a  man.  Josh  —  be  a  man,"  he  said,  with 
the  tears  running  down  his  face. 

"  Yes,  dear  father,  I  will,"  said  Joshua 
with  a  great  sob. 

"  And  don't  forget  father  and  mother, 
my  boy." 

"  No,  father,  never  !  " 

"  It's  better  than  being  a  wood-turner, 
Josh.  Don't  you  think  so  V  "  doubting  at 
the  last  moment  the  wisdom  of  his  having 
encouraged  Joshua  in  the  step  he  was 
about  to  take. 

"  A  great  deal  better,  father.  You'll 
see  !  " 

"  That's  right.  Josh  —  that's  right !  I'm 
glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Good-night,  my 
boy.  God  bless  you  1  "  And  pressing 
Joshua  in  his  arms,  and  kissing  him,  George 
Marvel  went  away  to  bed. 

He  had  not  been  gone  two  minutes  be- 
fore the  handle  of  the  door  was  turned 
again,  and  Mrs.  Marvel's  pale  face  appear- 
ed. She  did  not  enter  the  room ;  and 
Joshua  ran  to  her.  She  drew  him  on  to 
the  narrow  landing,  and  shut  the  door,  so 
that  they  were  in  darkness.  She  pressed 
him  to  her  bosom,  and  kissed  him  many 
times,  and  cried  over  him  quietly. 

"  O  mother  I  "  whispered  Joshua,  "  shall 
I  go?     Shall  I  go?" 

"  Plush,  dear  child,"  Mrs.  Marvel  said. 
"  It  is  the  \ery  best  thing  ;  and  you  must 
not  doubt  now.  Bless  you,  my  dear,  dear 
child  !  You  will  come  home  a  man  ;  and 
we  shall  all  be  so  proud  of  you  —  so  proud 
—  and  happy  !  "  She  pressed  him  closer, 
and  tried  to  sjjeak  cheerfully  ;  but  it  was  a 
poor  attempt.  "  And  write  whenever  you 
can,  and  tell  us  every  thing." 

"  Yes  ;  I  will  be  sure." 

"  Be  a  good  boy,  Joshua." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  And  you  will  say  your  prayers  every 
night  ?  " 

'•  I  will,  mother." 

"  Deiir  child,  God  will  protect  you.  I 
shall  think  of  you  of  a  night  saying  your 
prayers,  my  dear,  and  it  will  comtbrt  me 
so !     And  here  I  am,  keeping  my  boy  out 


58 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


of  bed,  like  a  selfish,  selfish,  selfish  mother  ! 
Now,  my  dear,  one  more  kiss,  and  say 
good-night." 

He  kissed  her  again,  and  she  left  his 
arms,  and  crept  softly  to  her  room.  These 
heart-shocks  were  hard  to  bear,  and  he 
paused  to  recover  himself  before  he  re- 
entered the  room.  Dan  did  not  look  at 
him,  nor  ask  him  any  questions.  But 
Joshua  sat  down  beside  Dan,  and  said,  — 
"  It  was  mother  kept  me,  Dan." 
"  Yes,  I  know,  Jo  dear.  There's  some- 
body else  at  the  door." 

It  was  Sarah,  who  asked  if  she  might 
come  in.  Of  course  she  might.  And 
might  Ellen  come  in  ?  Of  course.  So 
Elieu  came  in,  and  she  and  Sarah  sat  with 
their  brothers  for  a  few  minutes.  They 
talked  quietly  together,  and  Joshua  drew 
close  to  Ellen,  and  grew  calmer  as  he  look- 
ed at  her  sweet  peaceful  face.  She  raised 
her  eyes  shyly  to  his,  and  told  him  she 
had  a  little  present  for  him,  and  would  he 
accept  it?  There  was  a  question  to  ask 
him  !  Joshua  answered  almost  gayly.  She 
produced  her  present  —  a  poor  little  purse, 
■which  she  had  herself  worked  for  him  — 
and  Joshua  kissed  it,  and  kissed  her  after- 
wards, and  she  nestled  to  his  side  very 
tenderly  and  very  prettily,  and  cast  down 
her  eyes,  and  was  perfectly  happy.  The 
girls  did  not  stay  long,  (iood-night  was 
said  again  and  again,  and  Joshua  asked 
Ellen  to  kiss  him,  and  she  did  so  without 
hesitation.  When  they  were  gone,  Joshua 
sat  down,  and  rested  his  head  upon  his 
hands.  He  was  weary  after  the  day's  ex- 
citement, but  although  he  was  tired,  he  was 
wakeful,  and  did  not  feel  inclined  tor  sleep. 
So  he  and  Dan  had  a  long  chat  together, 
recalling  the  many  tender  memories  that 
enriched  their  friendship. 

"  /  have  a  present  for  you,  too,  Jo,"  said 
Dan,  producing  a  Bible. 

Joshua  opened  it,  and  read  on  the  first 
page,  "  From  Dan,  to  his  dearest  friend 
and  brother,  Joshua.  With  undying  love 
and  confidence." 

"  With   undying   love  and  confidence," 
mused     Joshua.       "  Nothing    could    ever 
change  our  friendship,  Dan,  could  it  ?  " 
"  Nothing,  Jo." 

"  Come,  now,"  said  Joshua,  "  suppose, 
for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  I  was  to 
turn  out  bad." 

Dan  smiled.  "  That  couldn't  happen, 
Jo." 

Thereupon  Joshua  told  Dan  the  adven- 
ture he  had  had  that  day  with  Susan  and 
the  Lascar.  "  And,  do  you  know,  Dan,  that 
when  I  knocked  liim  down,  and  saw  his 
mouth  bleeding.  I  was  glad  —  savagely 
glad,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  Yet  afterwai-ds 
when  1  thought  of  it,  and  when  I  think  of 


it  now,  it  seems  as  if  it  was  a  bad  feeling 
that  possessed  me." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  so  to  me,  Jo ;  it  gives 
me  greater  confidence  in  you.  If  you  had 
not  acted  so,  what  would  have  become  of 
poor  Susan  ?  " 

"  That's  true,"  said  Joshua. 

"  I  knew  all  along,  Jo  dear,  that  you 
were  loving  and  tender  and  good,  but  I 
did  not  know  until  now  that  you  were  so 
bold  and  brave.  And  so  strong  too  I  I 
am  proud  of  you.  You  can't  tell  what  may 
happen.  Think  of  this  strange  new  world 
you  are  going  to  now,  Jo,  and  of  the  strange 
things  the  Old  Sailor  has  told  us  of  it. 
You  have  no  more  idea  of  the  wonders  you 
will  see  than  I  have.  But  you  will  see 
them,  and  I  shall  see  them  through  you. 
Listen  now  to  me,  Jo.  I  love  you,  my 
deai'est  I'riend  and  brother,  and  you  have 
my  undying  love  and  confidence.  I,  a 
poor  helpless  cripple,  had  no  future  of  my 
own  ;  and  you  have  given  me  one.  I  live 
in  you.  I  shall  follow  you  in  my  thoughts, 
in  ni}'  dreams.  Somehow,  Jo,  our  minds 
have  grown  together,  and  I  smile  at  your 
words  that  you  might  turn  out  bad.  Could 
you  believe  it  of  me,  if  I  was  strong  like 
vou  even  ? " 

"No." 

"  Y'^ou  answer  for  me,  Jo.  You  have  al- 
ways been  noble  and  good  to  me,  and  you 
will  always  be  the  same.  I  would  not  think 
of  thanking  you,  Jo,  for  what  you  'have 
done  for  me  —  I  would  not  think  of  thank- 
ing you  for  making  my  poor  crippled  legs 
a  blessing  to  me  instead  of  a  burden.  Not 
with  words  do  I  or  can  I  repay  you — but 
with  undying  love  and  confidence.  Kiss 
me  now,  Jo,  and  say  that  you  fully  under- 
stand my  friendship  and  truth." 

'•  Fully,  Dan  ;  "  kissing  him.  "  And  I 
have  never  forgotten  what  I  promised  you 
a  long  time  ago,  Dan.  Wherever  I  am, 
and  whatever  I  shall  see,  I  will  think, 
'  Dan  is  here  with  me,  although  I  cannot 
see  him.'  Although  we  are  parted,  we 
shall  be  together." 

"  Yes,  in  spirit,  Jo  dear,"  said  Dan,  with 
a  beautiful  light  of  happiness  upon  his  face. 
"  And  now,  good-night." 

"  Good  night,  Dan." 

"  If  I  am  asleep  in  the  morning,  Jo,  do 
not  wake  me.  I  am  content  to  part  from 
you  now  with  this  good-night." 

"  Very  well,  Dan.     Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  MY  friend." 

With  that  Dan  turned  to  the  wall,  and 
Joshua,  going  to  the  bird-cages  hanging  in 
the  room,  said  good-night  to  the  birds. 
They  were  asleep  on  their  perches,  and  lie 
did  not  disturb  them.  "  They  will  give  me 
a  chirrup  in  the  morning,"  he  thought,  and, 
blowing  out  the  candle,  he  said  his  prayers 


AFTER  JOSHUA'S   DEPARTURE. 


59 


and  went  to  bed.  But  he  could  not  sleep ;  I 
the  events  of  the  day  presented  themselves 
to  his  mind  in  the  strangest  forms.  Min- 
nie and  her  shell  came  and  laded  away,  and 
her  place  was  filled  by  Susan  nursing  Basil 
Kindred ;  then  came  "the  ugly  figure  of  the 
Lascar  crouching  down,  and  afterwards 
making  a  cross  against  him,  and  cursing 
him ;  his  father  reailiug  the  Psalm,  while 
they  all  stood  round  ;  he  and  his  mother 
standing  in  the  dark  passage,  and  his 
mother  sobbing  over  him ;  Ellen  kissing 
him  and  nestling  close  to  him,  oh  so  pret- 
tily and  innocently!  All  these  pictures 
presented  themselves  to  him  consecutively 
at  first ;  but  ]iresently  they  grew  disturbed, 
and  the  Lascar,  the  evil  genius  of  the 
group,  was  mischievously  and  triumphantly 
at  work,  now  in  one  shajie,  now  in  another. 
Joshua  and  Ellen  were  sitting  together 
when  the!  Lascar  came  between  them,  and 
struck  Ellen  out  of  the  picture.  Then  the 
two  were  locked  in  a  deadly  struggle  on 
the  ground,  and  the  Lascar,  overpowering 
him,  knelt  upon  his  chest  and  hissed,  "I 
oould  take  your  life,  but  that  won't  satisfy 
me.  More  tlian  your  life  shall  pay  for  what 
you  have  done."  Other  phases  of  his  fan- 
cies were,  that  Dan  believed  him  to  be 
false.  "  INIy  doing  !  "  hissed  the  Lascar. 
That  Ellen  believed  him  to  be  wicked. 
"  My  doing ! "  hissed  the  Lascar.  That 
they  all  believed  him  to  be  bad.  "  My  do- 
ing !  "  hissed  the  Lascar.  That  they  were 
all  grouped  together,  and  were  turning  from 
him,  and  that  the  Lascar,  holding  him  fast, 
whispered  that  that  was  his  revenge.  At 
length  the  combinations  became  so  dis- 
tressing, that  Joshua,  to  shake  off  the  flin- 
cies,  rose  in  his  bed  and  opened  his  eyes. 
The  moonliglit  was  streaming  in  through 
the  window,  and  Joshua  crept  quietly  to  the 
water-jug  and  sprinkletl  some  water  over  his 
face.  Then,  his  mind  being  calmer,  he  knelt 
down  by  the  side  of  the  bed ;  and  Dan,  who 
had  not  slept,  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow. 
and,  seeing  his  friend  in  prayerful  attitude, 
smiled  softly  to  himself  and  was  glad. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WHAT   OCCUUIIED    AFTER   .JOSHUA'S 
DEPAKTUKE. 

The  nicest  mathematical  calculations  of 
the  probability  of  events  are  not  uncommonly 
subjected  to  shocks  which,  to  those  dull  and 
unreflective  persons  who  cannot  distinguish 
between  rule  and  exceptions,  seem  to  give 
the  lie  to  si;ience.  '  Yesterday  the  world 
was  at  peace,   and  rulers  and  politicians 


were  clofjuent  in  phrases  of  friendship  and 
good-will  to  the  inhabitants  of  every  nation 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  To-day  the  world 
is  at  war,  and  rulers  and  j)oliticians,  hot 
with  wrath  at  a  cunningly-provoked  insult, 
are  eager  to  avenge  traditional  wrongs  at 
any  expense  of  blood  and  human  suffering, 
and  to  resent  what  they  choose  to  call  na- 
tional humiliation.  Yesterday  two  nations 
clasped  hands,  and  smiled  upon  one  an- 
other.    Suddenly,  as  thus  they  stood,  a  fir« 

—  kindled  by  the  worst  of  secret  passions 
and  by  the  lust  of  self-aggrandizement  — 
Hashed  into  their  palms,  and  they  threw 
each  other  off,  and  drew  the  sword.  A 
more  serious  shock  was  never  given  to  the 
cahmlation  of  the  probable  course  of  events. 

Yesterday  peace  was  certain,  and  men 
were  preparing  to  gather  the  harvests ;  to- 
day war  is  raging,  and  the  cornfields  are 
steeped  in  blood. 

So  have  I  seen  in  a  f^xr-ofF  country  — ■ 
now  almost  in  its  infancy,  l)ut  whose  growth 
is  swift,  and  whose  manhood   will  be  grand 

—  a  sluggish  river  rolling  lazily  to  the  sea. 
Walking  inland  along  its  banks,  now  broad- 
ened by  fair  plains,  now  narrowed  by  tower- 
ing ranges,  I  have  come  suddenly  upon  the 
confluence  of  it  and  another  river,  whose 
waters,  springing  from  clouil-tipped  moun- 
tains of  snow,  rush  laughingly  down  the 
grand  old  rocks.  Here,  in  the  narrow  pass 
where  the  rivers  meet,  the  gray  sluggish 
stream  of  a  sleeper  opposes  itself  to  the 
marvellously  blue  waters  of  a  passionate  life. 
One,  dull  and  inert,  rolls  like  a  soulless 
slugfjcard  sullenly  to  the  sea;  the  other, 
with  its  snow-fi-inged  lines  reflected  in  its 
restless  depths  of  l)lue,  leaps  and  laughs  as 
it  flashes  onwards,  like  a  sodlike  hero,  to  the 
mightier  waters  of  the  Pacific.  But  a  few 
hundred  yards  away  from  the  confluence  of 
the  streams,  no  stranger,  walking  thither- 
ward, could  imagine  the  singular  and  grand 
contest  that  is  eternally  waging  in  that 
wonderful  pass;  and  when  he  comes  upon 
it  suddenly,  admiration  impels  him  to  stand 
in  silent  worship. 

One  of  the  commonest  of  common  similes 
is  the  simile  of  life  and  a  river.  But  as  it 
is  not  because  a  thing  is  rare  that  it  must 
needs  be  sweet,  so  it  is  not  because  a  thing 
is  common  that  it  must  needs  be  true. 
Every  river  fulfils  its  mission  :  does  every 
life  V  More  like  a  stream  than  a  river  is 
life.  Trace  the  stream,  from  the  incon- 
siderable bubbling  of  a  mountain  spring, 
down  the  hillsides,  over  rocks,  through 
glades  lighted  by  sunlight  and  moonlight, 
through  tortuous  defiles  and  rocky  chasms, 
into  a  sparkling  current,  which  swells  and 
swells  and  grows  into  a  lovely  channel,  or 
into  a  sullen  rill,  which  drips  and  drips 
aud  loses  itself  in  a  puddle. 


60 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


When  Joshua's  ship  had  sailed,  gloom 
fell  upon  the  house  of  the    Marvels  :    the 
sunshine  that  used  to  warm  it  no  longer 
shone  on  it.     George  Marvel   showed  his 
grief  more  plainly  than  did  his  good  wo- 
man.    He  was  more  gentle  towards  her,  and 
sometimes  his  gentleness  of  manner  took 
the  form  of  submission.     Singularly  enough 
she  was  seriously  distressed  at  the  change. 
She  wished  him  to  be  positive  and  contra- 
dictory, as  he  used  to  be  ;  to  scold  her  and 
put  her  down,  as  he  used  to  do  ;  to  be  more 
masterful  and  less  gentle.     She  strove  in 
all  sorts  of  ways  to  bring  back  his  ol<l  hu- 
mor ;  she  tried  his  temper  by  opposing  him  in 
trivial  matters ;   she  contradicted  him  when 
he  spoke ;  and  she  even  ventured,  on  two 
or  three  occasions,  to  tell  him  that  he  would 
have  to  wait  tor  his  meals  —  which  waiting 
for  one's  meals,  as  is   well  known,  is  one  of 
the  leading  causes  of  domestic  differences. 
But  all  her  well-meant  efforts  were  thrown 
away  ;  and  when  she  saw  him  sit  down  pa- 
tiently on  being  told,  with   assumed   snap- 
pishness,  that  tea  wouldn't  be  ready    tor 
half  an   hour,  she    gave  it   up   as   a   bad 
job,  and,  acting  wisely,   left  time  to  cure 
him.     It  did  cure  him,  as  it  cures  greater 
griefs ;    but  in  the  mean  time  he  suffered 
greatly. 

The  trict  of  it  was,  George  Marvel  was 
troubled  in  his  mind  at  the  prominent  part 
he  had  taken  in  iniluencing  Joshua's  choice 
of  a  profession.  Having  driven  his  son  to 
sea,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  a  hand  in  every 
Btorm,  and  as  if  he  were  in  some  measure 
responsible  for  every  gust  of  wind,  inas- 
much as  it  expressed  danger  to  Joshua. 
Then  the  thought  of  Joshua's  being  ship- 
wrecked haunted  him.  "  Suppose  Josh  is 
shipwrecked,  lather,"  his  wife  l\ad  said, 
'•  what  would  you  say  then  ?  You'd  lie 
awake  night  after  night,  father  —  you 
know  you  would  —  and  wish  he  had  been 
a  wood-turner." 

"  Maofo-ie  was  right,"  he  admitted  to  him- 
self; "  it  would  have  been  better  for  Josh, 
and  happier  for  all  us,  if  he  had  remained 
at  home  and  been  a  wood-turner." 

Being  in  pursuit  of  misery,  he  showed 
the  doggedness  of  his  nature  by  hunting 
for  it  assiduously.  He  read  with  remorse- 
ful eagerness  every  sci-ap  of  print  relating 
to  shipwreck  that  he  could  lay  hands  upon. 
He  would  go  out  of  his  way  to  borrow  a 
paper  which  he  had  heard  contained  an 
account  of  disasters  at  sen,  and  when  he  ob- 
tained it,  he  would  shut  himself  up,  and 
read  it  and  re-read  it  in  secrecy,  until  he  ex- 
tracted as  much  misery  from  it  as  it  could 
possibly  yield  him.  The  second  Saturday 
night  after  Joshua's  departure  he  saw  a 
nmuber  of  persons  assembled  round  a  sailor 
who  was  begging.      The  sailor  had  a  patch 


over  his  eye  and  a  wooden  leg,  and  he  was 
singing,  in  a  voice  of  dismal  enjoyment,  a 
woful  narration  of  his  sufferings  on  a  raft. 
George  Marvel  stopped  until  the  song  was 
finished,  and  then  gave  the  man  a  penny. 
The  following  Saturday  night  he  went  in 
search  of  the  sailor,  and  listened  to  his 
song,  and  gave  him  another  penny.  And 
so,  for  many  successive  Saturday  nights,  he 
went  and  enjoj'ed  his  penny-worth  of  misery, 
getting,  it  must  be  admitted,  full  value 
tor  his  money. 

On  other  evenings  he  smoked  his  pipe  in 
the  kitchen  as  usu.d.  If  the  weather  was 
boisterous,  he  would  go  restlessly  to  the 
street-door,  and  come  back  more  low-spirit- 
ed than  ever. 

"  It's  dreadfully  windy  to-night,  Mag- 
gie," he  would  say. 

°  "  Do  you  think  so,  George  ?  "  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel would  ask,  making  light  of  the  wind  for 
his  sake,  although  she  too  was  thinking  of 
Joshua. 

"  Not  a  star  to  be  seen,"  he  would  add 
despondently. 

Then  would  come  a  stronger  gust,  per- 
haps, and  George  Marvel  would  shiver 
and  ask  his  wife  if  she  thought  it  was 
stormy  out  at  sea.  She,  becoming  on  the 
instant  wonderfully  weatherwise,  would  an- 
swer. No,  she  was  sure  it  wasn't  stormy  at 
sea,  for  the  sea  was  such  a  long  way  off, 
and  it  wasn't  likely  that  a  storm  would  be 
all  over  the  world  at  once. 

One  night  when  a  great  storm  was  ra- 
o-ing  through  London,  and  when  the  thun- 
der^was  breaking  loudly  over  the  chimney- 
tops  in  Stepney,  Mrs.  Marvel  lay  awake, 
with  all  a  mother's  fears  tugging  at  her 
heart-strings,  praying  silently  for  Joshua's 
safety,  and  clasping  her  hands  more  tightly 
in  agony  of  love  at  every  lightning-flash 
that  darted  past  the  window.  _  She  hoped 
that  her  husband  was  asleep,  oblivious  of  the 
storm ;  but  he  was  as  wide  awake  as  she  was, 
and  was  following  Joshua's  ship  through 
the  fearful  storm.  At  one  time,  the  house 
shook  in  the  wild  blustering  of  the  wind,  and 
they  heard  a  crash  as  of  the  blowing  down 
of  some  chimneys. 

"Masgie,"  whispered  Mr.  Marvel,  won- 
dering if  his  wife  were  awake. 

"Yes,  father,"  answered  Mrs.  Marvel, 
under  her  breath. 

"  It  is  an  awful  storm."  Then,  after  a 
pause,  "  Have  you  been  awake  long,  moth- 
er ?  " 

"  I  have  been  listening  to  it  for  ever  so 
long,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Marvel;^  adding, 
with  a  cunning  attempt  to  comfort  him, 
'•  And  praying  that  it  might  spend  out  all 
its  force  over  our  heads,  and  not  travel 
away  to  Joshua's  ship.  We  ought  to  be 
thankful  that  Joshua  is  on  the  open  sea. 


AFTER  JOSHUA'S   DEPARTUR 


>^  or  T»Ti.;^>N 
IT       ■        C 


Mr.  IModdler  says  there's  no  danger  for  a 
ship  ill  a  storm  when  it  isn't  near  hind." 

"  And  he  knows  hetter  than  us,  moth- 
er." 

"  Yes,  (k^ar.  All  we  can  do  is  to  pray 
for  Joshua.  God  will  bring  him  back  to 
us,  father." 

"  I  hope  so ;  I  pray  so.  Good-night, 
Maggie.     Go  to  sleep." 

"  Yes,  George.     Good-night." 

But  they  lay  awake  for  a  long  time  after 
that,  until  the  storm,  sobbing  like  a  child 
worn  out  with  passion,  sighed  and  moaned 
itself  away. 

As  for  Dan,  for  many  days  after  Joshua 
was  gone  he  felt  as  if  a  dear  friend  had 
died  ;  not  Joshua,  but  some  unknown  friend 
almost  as  dear.  He  had  reason  enough  for 
feeling  lonely  and  miserable.  His  dear 
friend's  companionship  had  been  inesti- 
mably precious  to  him  ;  Joshua's  very  foot- 
fall had  made  his  heart  glad.  The  hours 
they  had  spent  together  were  the  summer 
of  his  life,  and  now  that  he  and  Joshua 
were  parted  he  recognized  that  a  great  void 
had  been  made  in  his  life,  and  that  it  be- 
hoved him  to  fill  it  up.  That  void  was 
want  of  occupation.  What  was  he  to  do 
now  that  Joshua  was  gone  ?  When  Joshua 
was  at  home,  there  had  been  every  day 
something  to  do,  something  to  talk  about, 
something  to  argue  upon.  Then,  time  did 
not  hang  heavily  upon  his  hands ;  now, 
when  there  was  no  Joshua  to  look  forward 
to,  he  found  himself  falling  into  a  state  of 
listlessness  which  he  knew  was  not  good 
for  him.  He  wanted  something  for  his 
hands  to  do.  What  ?  He  thought  a  great 
deal  about  it,  and  had  not  settled  the  diffi- 
culty when  a  domestic  calamity  occurred. 

The  drinking  proclivities  of  Mr.  Taylor 
have  been  incidentally  referred  to.  These 
proclivities  had  unfortunately  grown  upon 
him  to  such  an  extent,  that  he  was  now  an 
ardent  and  faithful  slave  of  that  demon  to 
so  many  English  homes  among  the  poor  — 
Gin.  It  has  been  spoken  of  often  enou'jch 
and  trutlifuUy  enough,  God  knows!  But 
it  cannot,  until  it  lie  vanquished  in  the  dust, 
be  too  often  struck  at.  If  there  is  a  curse 
in  this  our  mighty  England  which  degrades 
it  to  a  level  so  low  that  it  is  shame  to  think 
of,  that  curse  is  Gin  !  If  vice,  domestic 
misery,  and  prostitution  have  an  English 
teacher,  that  teacher  is  Gin  !  And  in  this 
England,  which  we  so  glorify,  so  sing  about 
and  mouth  about,  no  direct  attempt  has 
ever  yet  been  made  by  statesmen  who  work 
as  Jobbers  to  root  this  teacher  out  of  our 
wretched  courts  and  alleys,  and  replace  it 
by  something  better.  Perhaps  one  day, 
when  a  lull  takes  place  in  the  jangle  of 
PoUtics  —  amid  the  din  of  which  so  many 
strange    sounds   are   heard;    such   as  the 


■\vTangle  of  reli 
exjioncnts  split 
and-State  bills  for  lieu 


-y 


lose  various 
in  Church-  '' 
Jia*TJur- 


pose,  unless  it  be  for  the  triumph  of  their 
particular  creeds  ;  such  as  the  wrangle  of 
private  members  whose  hearts  and  souls 
(literally)  are  wrapt  up  in  private  bills  for 
the  good  (jf  the  people  —  perhaps  one  day 
amid  the  lull,  a  wise  and  beneficent  states- 
man may  turn  his  attention  to  the  abomi- 
nable curse,  and  earn  for  himself  a  statue, 
the  design  of  which  shall  be  —  after  the 
manner  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon  — 
Gin  writhing  on  the  ground  in  all  its  true 
deformity,  pierced  through  by  the  spear  of 
a  wise  legislation,  which  in  this  instance  at 
least  shall  have  legislated  for  the  good  of 
the  many. 

Mr.  Taylor,  one  of  the  Gin  Patriots, 
having  enrolled  himself  as  a  soldier  in  the 
cause,  was  necessitated  by  the  magnanimity 
of  his  nature  to  become  a  soldier  leal  anil 
true.  So  he  bowed  himself  down  before 
Gin,  and  worshipped  it  morning,  noon,  and 
night.  Even  in  his  dreams  he  was  faithful 
to  the  cause,  mumbling  out  entreaties  to 
his  god.  His  devotion  causing  him  to  neg- 
lect all  lesser  worldly  matters,  he  fell  into 
a  bad  state  of  poverty,  and  his  family  fell 
with  him.  The  worst  form  of  INlr.  Taylor's 
devotion  did  not  appear  until  Joshua  letV 
home  ;  hitherto  he  had  been  working  up  to 
his  ambition's  height.  Having  reached  it, 
he  rested  on  his  oars,  which,  being  com- 
posed of  the  frailest  of  timber,  gave  way 
and  sent  him  rolling  into  the  mud.  As  he 
declined  to  provide  for  his  family,  that  duty 
devolved  upon  Llrs.  Taylor,  and  she  pa- 
tiently and  unmurmuringly  performed  her 
duty,  and  worked  her  fingers  to  the  bone, 
until  her  strength  gave  way.  She  was  one 
of  those  quiet  souls  who  always  do  their 
best,  and  never  complain  ;  and  having  done 
her  best,  she  closed  her  eyes  upon  the 
world,  and  passed  without  a  murmur  out 
of  the  hive  of  busy  bees. 

There  was  much  sadness  in  the  house 
when  the  event  occurred,  and  there  was 
much  helpful  sympathy  among  the  neigh- 
bors. Not  for  Mr.  Taylor  —  although  they 
remembered  the  time  when  he  was  a  re- 
spectable member  of  society,  before  he  had 
fallen  under  the  fatal  influence  of  Gin  — 
but  for  the  children.  During  Mrs.  Taylor's 
illness,  which  lasted  but  a  very  short  time, 
Susan  came  to  the  house  and  helped  Ellen 
in  her  household  work  and  in  nursing  their 
mother.  It  was  an  anxious  time  for  the 
poor  little  maid ;  but  she  did  her  work 
willingly,  and  with  the  patient  sj)irit  her 
mother  had  exhi'nted.  Susan  was  a  great 
help  to  her,  and  there  was  more  sisterly 
love  between  them  during  that  time  than 
had    ever    before    shown   itself.      At   the 


62 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


funeral,  Mr.  Taylor  presented  himself  in  as 
decent  a  state  of  Gin  as  he  could  muster 
up  for  the  occasion ;  drivelled  a  little, 
trembled  a  great  deal,  and  proclaimed  him- 
self a  most  unfortunate  man.  Finding  that 
he  obtained  no  sympathy  for  his  miserable 
position  from  his  children  or  from  the 
neighbors,  he,  when  the  funeral  was  over, 
pawned  bis  waistcoat,  and  dissolving  the 
proceeds,  wept  tears  of  Gin  over  the  death 
of  his  wife.  While  he  was  employed  in 
that  process  of  drowning-  his  grief,  the 
three  children  were  sitting  together  in 
Dan's  room  talking  in  hushed  tones  over 
their  loss  and  over  their  prospects.  After  the 
funeral,  Mrs.  Marvel  —  who  had  helped  to 
nurse  Mrs.  Taylor  —  quietly  prepared  tea 
in  Dan's  room,  and  with  her  usual  sympa- 
thetic instinct  of  what  was  best,  kept  her- 
self out  of  sight  as  much  as  possible.  But 
at  the  last  moment,  when  tea  was  ready 
and  she  was  about  to  leave  the  children  un- 
disturbed, she  placed  her  arm  round  Dan's 
neck,  and  whispered  that  Joshua's  home 
was  Dan's,  and  that  he  might  come  and 
occupy  Joshua's  room  whenever  he  pleased. 
"  And  be  another  son  to  us,  my  dear,"  said 
good  ]\Irs.  Marvel ;  "  so  that  we  shall  have 
two."  Dan  thanked  her,  and  looked  at 
Ellen  thoughtfully,  and  then  Mrs.  Marvel 
left  the  childi'en  to  their  meal. 

Said  Dan,  "  Mrs.  Marvel  has  asked  me 
to  live  in  her  house,  and  sleep  in  Joshua's 
room." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  thing,"  observed 
Susan. 

Dan  stole  his  hand  into  Ellen's,  who  had 
been  looking  down  sadly  ;  she  felt  the  warm 
pressure,  and  her  fingers  tightened  upon 
his.  That  little  action  was  as  good  as 
words ;  they  understood  each  other  per- 
fectly. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  would  not  be  a  good 
thing.  It  was  a  good  thing  for  IMrs.  Mar- 
vel to  offer,  but  then  she  is  Jo's  mother, 
and  as  kind  and  good  as  Jo  is ;  but  it 
would  not  be  a  good  thing  for  me  to  accept. 
For  there's  Ellen  here  ;  she  is  half  of  me, 
Susey,  and  we  mustn't  be  parted.  But 
indeed  there  will  be  no  reason  for  it.  I 
have  a  wonderful  scheme  in  my  head,  but 
it  wants  thinking  over  before  I  tell  it." 

Dan  spoke  bravely,  as  if  he  were  a  strong 
man,  with  all  the  world  to  choose  from. 

"  O  Dan  !  "  exclaimed  Susan,  tears  com- 
ing to  her  eyes  at  his  bi*ave  confident 
manner,  "  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  you 
wouldn't  have  been  a  cripple,  and  your 
poor  legs  might  have  been  of  some  use  to 
you." 

"  They  will  be  of  more  use  to  me  per- 
haps than  if  they  were  sound,  Susey,"  said 
Dan  cheerfully,  "  if  I  can  make  something 
out  of  the  scheme  I  have  got  in  my  head 


—  and  I  think  I  can.  Let  us  talk  sensibly. 
Now  that  poor  dear  mother's  gone,  we 
must  all  do  something.  I  intend  to  com- 
mence doing  something  to-morrow." 
"  What,  dear  Dan  ?  "  asked  Susan. 
"  You  will  see.  What  I  should  like  is 
that  we  should  all  live  together.  Perhapa 
not  just  now,  Susey,  but  by  and  by.  What 
do  you  say  to  that,  Susey  ?  " 

Susan  thought  of  Basil  and  Minnie 
Kindred,  and  felt  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  her  to  leave  them.  "  It  would  be  very 
good,"  she  said,  "  but  we  can  talk  of  that 
by  and  by,  as  you  say." 

"  Very  well.  The  first  thing,  then,  we 
have  to  consider  is  bread-and-butter. 
Bread-and-butter,"  he  repeated,  in  reply  to 
their  (juestioning  looks.  "  We  must  have 
it,  and  we  must  earn  it." 

Susan  nodded  gravely,  and  said,  "  Ellen 
had  better  learn  to  be  a  dressmaker." 
Ellen  looked  up  with  joyful  gratitude. 
"  Oh,  how  good  of  you,  Susey  1  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Then  I  could  earn  money.  I 
wouldn't  mind  how  hard  I  should  have  to 
work." 

"  It  is  a  capital  idea,"  said  Dan,  taking 
Susan's  hand.  "  The  best  thing  you  can 
do,  Susey,  is  to  bring  some  of  your  work 
here  every  day  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and 
let  Ellen  help  you  —  she  will  soon  learn." 

"  That  I  will,"  said  Ellen  in  a  voice  of 
quiet  gladness. 

These  young  people,  you  see,  were  not 
entirely  unhappy. 

"  I  wonder  where  Joshua  is,"  remarked 
Ellen  during  the  evening. 

"Ah,  where?"  sighed  Dan.  "But 
wherever  he  is,  he  is  doing  his  duty,  and 
we  will  do  ours.  How  happy  we  all  were 
that  night  at  Mr.  Meddler's !  What  a  beau- 
tiful day  that  was  !  Like  a  dream  !  Hark  I 
There  is  the  church-bell  striking  nine 
o'clock."  They  listened  in  silence.  "  That 
is  like  a  wedding-bell.  Now  the  other 
church  is  striking  —  how  solemn  it  sounds  ! 
—  like  a  funeral-bell." 

The  tears  came  to  their  eyes  when  Dan 
inadvertently  made  the  last  remark. 

They  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time  after 
that,  and  then  Dan  said,  — 

"I  feel  now  just  as  I  felt  the  day  after 
Jo  went  away." 

They  sat  up  talking  until  eleven  o'clock. 
They  spoke  in  low  tones,  and  they  sat  in 
the  dark. 

"  Don't  you  miss  mother's  step,  Dan  ?  " 
asked  Susan. 

"  How  strange  it  is  to  know  that  she  is 
not  in  the  house  1  "  said  Dan.     "  Hush  1  " 

There  was  a  step  outside  the  door ;  it 
was  the  drunken  step  of  their  father,  who 
stumbled  through  the  passage  and  up  the 
stairs,  shedding  tears  of   Gin  as  he  stag- 


DAN  ENTERS  INTO   BUSINESS. 


63 


gored  to  bed,  bemoaning  the  death  of  his 
wife.  'J'hey  listened  with  feelings  of  griisf 
and  I'ear  until  they  heard  his  bedroom-door 
phut,  and  then  turned  to  eaeh  other  with 
deeper  tiighs.  Shame  for  the  living  was 
more  grievous  to  bear  than  sorrow  for  the 
dead. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

DAN  ENTERS  INTO  BUSINESS. 

Theik  plans  were  commenced  the  very 
next  day.  Susan  came  round  with  her 
work,  and  gave  Ellen  her  first  lesson  in 
dressmaking.  Ellen  was  as  skilful  with 
the  needle  as  Susan  was,  and  made  famous 
progress.  A  cheerful  worker  is  sure  to 
turn  out  a  skilful  one. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  in  the  night,  El- 
len," said  Susan,  "  that  we  might  go  into 
partnership." 

"  AVait,"  said  Dan  the  Just,  looking  up 
from  the  table,  on  which  the  birds  were  go- 
ing through  their  performances  ;  "  there  is 
time  enough  to  talk  of  that.  I  don't  in- 
tend that  you  shall  sacrifice  every  thing  for 
us." 

'*  No  sacrifice  could  be  too  great  for  me 
to  make  for  you,  Dan,"  replied  Susan. 
"  But  I  think  that  I  should  have  all  the  ad- 
vantage, if  we  were  partners.  Ellen  has 
such  a  beautiful  figure,  that  slie  would  be 
sure  to  get  customers.  Stand  up,  dear  — 
look  at  her,  Dan  1  "  And  Susan  turned 
Ellen  about,  and  looked  at  her  pretty  sis- 
ter's pretty  figure  without  a  tittle  of  envy. 
"  If  you  are  a  judge  of  any  thing  but  birds, 
Dan,  you  must  confess  that  Ellen  is  a 
model." 

Dan  smiled  and  said,  "  If  Ellen  wasn't 
good,  30U  would  make  her  vain.  Let  the 
partnership  question  rest  for  a  little  while. 
Go  on  with  your  work,  and  don't  talk.  I've 
got  somethinij  very  particular  to  do." 

Dan,  with  his  birds  before  him,  appeared 
to  be  perplexed  with  some  more  than  usu- 
ally difficult  problem  concerning  them. 
There  was  a  curious  indecision  also  in  his 
treatment  of  them.  Now  he  issued  a  com- 
mand, now  he  countermanded  it ;  now  he 
ordered  a  movement,  and  before  it  was  exe- 
cuted threw  the  birds  into  confusion  by 
giving  the  signal  for  something  entirely 
different.  Until  at  length  the  birds,  espe- 
cially the  old  stagers,  stood  looking  irreso- 
lutely at  each  other,  wi'.h  the  possible 
thought  in  their  minds  (if  they  have  any) 
that  tlieir  master  had  taken  a  drop  too 
much  to  drink ;  and  one  young  recruit  — 


none  but  a  young  one  and  a  tomtit,  who  is 
notoriously  the  sauciest  of  birds,  would 
have  dared  to  do  it — advanceil,  alone  and 
unsupported,  to  the  edge  of  the  talkie,  and 
looking  up  in  Dan's  face,  asked  what  he 
meant  by  it.  Ilt'called  to  himself  by  this 
act  of  insurbordination,  I>an  recovered  his 
usual  self-])ossession,  and  selected  two  bull- 
finches, somewhat  similar  to  those  which  he 
had  given  to  the  Old  Sailor.  They  were 
young  untrained  birds,  and  Dan  at  once 
commenced  their  education.  But  Pollen  re- 
marked with  surprise  that  he  was  less  ten- 
der in  his  manner  towards  them  than 
towards  the  other  birds.  He  spoke  to 
them  more  sternly,  and  as  if  the  business 
in  which  they  were  engaged  was  a  serious 
business,  with  not  a  particle  of  nonsense  in 
it. 

"  See,  Ellen,"  he  said  afler  some  days  had 
passed  — "  see  how  clever  they  are  !  They 
draw  up  their  own  food  and  their  own 
water ;  and  directly  I  sound  this  whistle, 
they  sing  '  God  save  the  King.' " 

He  blew  through  the  tin  whistle,  and  the 
birds  sang  the  air  through. 

"  Now  you  sound  the  whistle,  Ellen." 

Ellen  blew  through  the  whistle,  and  the 
birds  repeated  the  air. 

"  So  you  see,  Ellen,  it  doesn't  matter  who 
blows  the  wListle  ;  the  birds  begin  to  sing 
directly  they  hear  it.  Here  is  another  whis- 
tle —  a  wooden  one,  with  a  different  note. 
Blow  that  softly." 

Ellen  blew,  and  the  bullfinches  immedi- 
ate!}' set  to  work  hauling  up  water  from  the 
well. 

"  That  is  good,  isn't  it  ? "  said  Dan. 
"They  will  obey  anybody." 

"  But  tell  me,  Dan,  why  you  don't  speak 
to  them  as  kindly  as  you  do  to  the  others  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  have  noticed  it,  miss,  have  you  ? 
I  thought  you  did.  Well,  then,  in  the  first 
place,  I  wanted  to  teach  them  by  a  new  sys- 
tem. I  wanted  to  teach  them  so  that  any- 
body can  make  them  do  what  I  do,  if  he 
gives  the  proper  signal ;  and  I  have  suc- 
ceeded, as  you  see.  If  I  had  taught  them  by 
my  voice,  as  I  have  taught  the  others,  they 
wouldn't  have  been  of  use  to  any  one  but 
me.  They  are  such  cunning  little  things, 
and  they  have  such  delicate  little  ears  1  In 
the  second  place,  Ellen,  I  did  not  want  to 
grow  fond  of  them." 

"  Why,  Dan  dear  ?  " 

"  Because,  if  I  had  grown  fond  of  them,  it 
would  almost  break  my  heart  to  part  with 
them.  AVho  could  help  loving  them,  I  won- 
der ?  They  have  been  my  world,  you  see, 
and  they  are  such  innocent  little  "pets.  I 
have  grown  to  love  them  so,  you  can't  tell. 
And  we  know  each  other's  voices,  and  have 
made  a  language  of  our  own,  which  no  one 
else  can  understand." 


64 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


He  chirruped  to  them,  and  called  to  them 
in  endearing  tones  ;  and  all  the  birds,  with 
the  exception  of  the  pair  of  bullfinches,  flut- 
tered to  him,  and  perched  about  his  shoul- 
ders and  nestled  in  his  breast.  The  two 
little  bullfinches,  standing  alone  in  the 
centre  of  the  table,  looked  more  surprised 
than  Ibrlorn  at  the  desertion. 

Then  Dan  said :  "  This  is  part  of  my 
scheme.  I  commence  business  to-day  as  a 
bird-merchant.  I  have  trained  these  two 
bullfinches  to  sell.  You  are'Carning  money 
alread)-,  Ellen  dear,  and  yon  are  a  girl.  I 
am  not  quite  a  man  in  years,  although  I  think 
I  am  here  "  —  touching  his  forehead  —  "  and 
I  am  not  going  to  let  you  beat  me  at  money- 
making." 

He  pulled  out  a  paper,  on  which  was  writ- 
ten, iu  Roman  letters,  and  neat  round  hand, 

THIS  PAIR  OF  BULLFINCHES 

FOR  SALE. 

They  draw  up  their  oicn  food  and  water  ;  and 

they  sing 

"  GOD  SAVE  THE  KING," 

And  other  Tunes,  to  the  Sound  of  a  Whktle. 
Inquire  within  o/Dan  Taylor. 

"  What  I  propose  to  do,  Ellen,  is  to  put 
the  cage  with  the  bullfinches  iu  the  parlor- 
window,  with  this  announcement  over  the 
cage.  Perhaps  it  will  attract  the  attention 
of  bome  one  or  other,  and  he  will  be  cu- 
rious about  it,  and  will  come  in  and  make 
inquiries." 

So  the  birds  were  exhibited  in  the  parlor- 
window,  and  above  their  cage  was  hung  the 
announcement  that  they  were  lor  sale.  The 
neighbors  saw  the  birds,  and  there  was  not 
a  woman  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  around  who 
did  not  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  parlor-win- 
dow of  the  Taylors.  "  Dan  is  selling  his 
birds,"  they  said,  "because  of  his  brute  of  a 
father  ;  "  and  they  shook  their  heads  sorrow- 
fully, and  admired  Dan's  writing,  and  said 
he  was  quite  a  scholar.  Ellen,  working  in 
the  parlor,  would  pause  in  the  midst  of  her 
hemming,  or  stitching,  or  basting,  as  the 
shadow  of  a  passer-by  darkened  the  window, 
and  pray  that  he  would  come  in  and  buy  the 
birds. 

The  exhibition  was  a  great  boon  to  the 
dirty  little  boys  and  girls  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, who  at  first  stood  in  open-mouthed 
admiration,  and  would  have  stood  so  lor 
hours,  neglectfid  of  the  gutters,  if  an  occa- 
sional raid  against  their  forces  by  anxious 
mothers  had  not  scattered  them  now  and 
then.  Those  of  the  children  who  could  get 
near  enough,  would  flatten  their  noses  and 
mouths  against  the  window-panes  in  the  fer- 
vor of  their  enthusiasm.      The  bullfinches, 


looking  down  from  their  perch  upon  the 
qucerly-distorted  features,  had  the  advan- 
tage of  studying  htunan  nature  from  an  en- 
tirely novel  point  of  view,  and  were  doubtless 
interested  in  the  study.  For  the  purpose  of 
attracting  the  passers-by,  Dan,  at  certain 
intervals  during  the  day,  caused  the  birds 
to  draw  up  their  water  and  food ;  and  those 
exhibitions  were  the  admiration  of  the  entire 
neighborhood. 

"  I  wish  some  one  would  come  in  and 
ask  the  price  of  them,"  sighed  Ellen,  wish- 
ing that  she  had  a  f;iiry-wand  to  turn  the 
sight-gazers  into  customers. 

Dan  only  smiled,  and  bade  Ellen  have 
patience. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Taylor,  becom- 
ing every  day  more  devoted  in  his  wor- 
ship to  his  god,  fell  every  day  into  a  worse 
and  worse  condition.  One  evening,  Ellen, 
being  tired,  went  to  bed  soon  after  tea,  and 
on  that  evening  Mi-.  Taylor  happened  to 
come  home  earlier  than  usual.  There  was 
a  reason  for  it :  he  had  spent  all  his  money, 
had  quite  exhausted  his  credit,  and  had 
been  turned  out  of  the  public-houses.  Be- 
ing less  drunk  than  usual,  he  was  more  ill- 
tempered  than  usual,  and  he  stumbled  into 
the  parlor  with  the  intention  of  venting  his 
ill-humor  upon  Ellen.  But  Ellen  was  not 
there.  Dan  was  the  only  occupant  of  the 
room,  and  he  was  reading.  He  raised  his 
eyes,  and  seeing  his  father  half-drunk,  he 
lowered  them  to  his  book  again.  He  was 
ashamed  and  grieved. 

"  Where  is  Ellen  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Tay- 
lor. 

"  Gone  to  bed,"  replied  Dan  shortly. 

"  Why  isn't  she  here  to  get  my  supper  ?  " 
asked  the  gin-worshipper  irritably.  Dan 
made  no  reply  ;  but,  although  he  appeared 
to  be  continuing  his  reading,  a  quivering  of 
his  lips  denoted  that  his  attention  was  not 
wholly  given  to  his  book.  "  Do  you  hear 
me  ?  "  continued  Mr.  Taylor  after  a  pause, 
thumping  his  fist  upon  the  table.  "  Why 
isn't  she"  here  to  get  my  supper  ?  What 
business  has  she  to  go  to  bed  without  get- 
ting my  supper  ?  " 

"  She  was  up  at  five  this  morning  to  do 
the  washing,  and  has  been  working  all  day." 

Dan  spoke  very  c[uietly,  and  did  not  look 
at  his  lather. 

"  Her  mother  wouldn't  have  done  it," 
whimpered  Mr.  Taylor.  "  Here  am  I  with- 
out two  pence  in  my  pocket,  and  my  very 
children  rebel  against  me.  Is  there  any 
thing  in  the  house  for  supper  ?  —  tell  me 
that." 

"  I  don't  know.     I  don't  think  there  is." 

"  You  don't  know !  You  don't  think 
there  is  !  "  sneered  JNIr.  Taylor.  "  You've 
had  yours,  I  suppose  V  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  have  not  had  any." 


DAN   ENTEKS   INTO   BUSINESS. 


65 


"  Wliat  do  you  mean  by  '  sir '  ?  "  cried 
Mr.  Taylor. furiously.  "How  dare  you 
call  your  father  '  sir'  ?  Is  that  what  you 
learned  from  your  friend  Joshua  V  " 

Dan  clasped  his  hands  nervously  to- 
gether ;  he  was  a;^itated  and  indit;nant, 
and  he  did  not  dare  to  give  expression  to 
his  thoughts. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak  ?  "  demanded 
Mr.  Taylor  with  unreasoning  anger. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  sitting  there  mock- 
ing your  father  ?  " 

""  I  am  not  mocking  you,"  said  Dan. 
"  And  as  for  speaking,  I  am  too  much 
ashamed  to  say  what  I  think ;  so  I  had 
better  remain  silent." 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  in  that  way  ? 
Haven't  I  kept  you  tor  years  in  idleness  and 
luxury  V  Haven't  I  provided  for  you  ? 
And  now  when  I  am  in  bad  luck,  and 
haven't  sixpence  to  get  a  quartern   loaf " 

—  he  meant  a  quatern  of  gin,  but  the  loaf 
was  the  more  dignified   way  of  putting  it 

—  "  my  children  turn  against  me." 

"  It  isn't  my  fault  that  you  have  had  to 
keep  me,"  Dan  said  quietly.  "  If  I  had 
been  like  other  boys,  I  should  have  been 
glad  to  work  and  earn  money  ;  but  I  am 
crippled,  and  never  felt  that  I  was  unfor- 
tunate until  now.  I  don't  think  mother 
would  liave  thrown  my  misfortune  in  my 
teeth  as  you  have  done." 

Mr.  Taylor  was  too  much  steeped  in  gin 
to  feel  the  reproachful  words.  He  con- 
tinued to  bemoan  his  hard  fate  and  the  in- 
gratitude of  his  children.  In  the  midst  of 
his  bemoaning  he  caught  sight  of  an  empty 
cage.  An  inspii-ation  fell  upon  him.  That 
bird-cage  could  probably  be  exchanged  for 
a  pint  of  gin.  Present  bliss  was  before 
him,  and  the  prospect  of  it  made  him  cun- 
ning. 

He  ordered  Dan  to  bed,  and  Dan,  who 
could  crawl  with  the  aid  of  his  crutches, 
went,  thankful  to  escape  from  so  painful  an 
interview.  When  Dan  came  down  the 
next  morning  he  discovered  his  loss.  He 
was  much  grieved ;  not  so  much  at  the  loss 
of  the  bird-cage,  but  at  the  thought  that  his 
other  cages  and  the  birds  might  be  appro- 
priated in  like  manner.  He  said  notliing 
of  what  had  occurred,  but  that  night  when 
he  went  to  bed  he  had  all  his  birds  and 
cages  removed  to  his  bedroom,  and  he 
locked  his  door. 

It  was  midnight  when  Mr.  Taylor  came 
home.  Although  he  was  drunk,  he  crept 
like  a  thief  into  the  house.  The  proceeds 
of  the  cage  had  supplied  hira  with  drink  for 
the  day ;  and  having  conscientiously  spent 
every  penny,  he  was  in  the  same  impover- 
ished condition  as  he  had  been  the  previous 
night.  As  he  could  not  live  without  gin, 
he  determined  to  appropriate  another  bird- 


cage. What  right  had  Dan  to  them  ?  They 
were  his,  the  father's,  who  had  kept  his  son 
in  idleness,  and  who  had  clothed  and  shel- 
tered him.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  his  drunk- 
en muttering  he  was  oppressed  with  a 
shamefaced  consciousness  of  the  villany  of 
his  logic,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  he  ob- 
tained a  light  from  the  tinder-box.  The 
poor  little  rush-light  flickered  when  it  was 
lighted,  as  if  it  also  were  oppressed  with 
shame. 

Unsteadily,  and  with  much  stumbling, 
]\Ir.  Taylor  groped  his  way  to  Dan's  room. 
Looking  around  on  the  walls  he  discovered, 
to  his  dismay  and  astonishment,  that  the 
birds  and  the  cages  were  gone.  His 
first  surprise  over,  he  gave  way  to  pas- 
sion. The  boy  had  no  doubt  taken  the 
ca<Tes  to  his  bedroom  for  fear  his  father 
should  steal  them.  How  dared  Dan  sus- 
pect him  ?  He  would  teach  Dan  a  lesson — 
a  lesson  that  he  would  not  forget.  Work- 
ing himself  into  a  state  of  maudlin  in- 
dignation, he  stumbled  up  the  stairs  to 
Dan's  bedroom,  and  tried  the  door.  It  was 
locked.  Here  was  another  proof  of  his 
son's  ingratitude  and  want  of  confidence. 
What  was  he  to  do  for  gin  the  next  day  ? 
He  must  have  gin ;  he  could  not  Uve 
without  it.  Ellen's  laedroom  was  next  to 
Dan's.  The  drunken  father  turned  the 
handle  of  the  door,  and  looked  in.  On  the 
floor  were  Ellen's  boots.  He  saw  gin 
marked  on  them,  and  catching  them  up,  he 
clutched  them  to  his  breast,  and  slunk 
guiltily  to  bed. 

Ellen,  rising  the  next  morning,  looked 
about  in  vain  for  her  boots.  She  searched 
for  them  up  stairs  and  down  stairs,  wonder- 
ing what  had  become  of  them.  The  door 
of  her  father's  room  was  open,  and  she  en- 
tered it;  but  Mr.  Taylor,  knowing  that 
Ellen  was  an  early  riser,  had  taken  care  to 
get  out  of  the  house  before  she  was  about. 
When  Ellen  saw  the  empty  bed,  some 
glimmering  of  the  truth  flashed  upon  her. 
At  first  tiie  poor  girl  sat  down  upon  the 
bed  and  began  to  cry  ;  the  loss  of  her  boots 
was  a  grievous  loss  indeed  to  her.  She  had 
no  money  to  buy  another  pair  with  ;  they 
were  such  beautiful  boots,  too,  and  fitted 
her  so  nicely  !  What  was  she  to  do  ?  How 
it  would  grieve  Dan  to  know?  That 
thought  calmed  her.  Dan  must  not  know 
—  it°would  hurt  him  too  much.  She  might 
be  able  to  get  an  old  pair  from  somebody 
during  the  day  ;  perhaps  Susan  had  an  old 
pair  to  lend  her.  Siie  dried  her  eyes  and 
washed  them  well  with  cold  water,  and  al- 
together managed  so  successfully,  that 
breakfast  was  over,  and  she  and  Dan  and 
the  birds  were  alltogether  in  the  parlor, 
without  Dan  ever  'suspecting  what  had 
occurred. 


66 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


Those  two  ctildren  sitting  there  were 
fully  aware  that  a  grave  crisis  was  ap- 
proaching. Young  as  they  were  to  bear 
the  weight  of  serious  trouble,  they  bore  it 
«heerfully,  and  strove  in  their  humble  way 
to  fight  with  the  world  and  with  the  hard 
circumstances  of  their  lives.  Dan,  cripple 
as  he  was,  had  much  hope ;  and  often  when 
he  was  thinking  over  certain  schemes  which 
had  been  suggested  by  the  stern  necessity 
of  his  condition,  a  quaint  smile  would  play 
upon  his  lips,  and  a  humorous  light  would 
shine  in  his  eyes.  Ellen,  looking  up  from 
her  work,  would  sometimes  see  that  smile, 
which,  for  all  its  quaintness,  had  a  shade 
of  thoughtfulness  in  it ;  and  on  her  lips, 
too,  a  pleasant  smile  would  wreathe  in 
sympathy.  They  were  very  tender  towards 
each  other;  and  their  love  made  them 
strong. 

Ellen,  busy  with  her  needle,  sat  close  to 
the  table,  so  that  Dan  should  not  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  shoeless  feet.  Dan  was 
industriously  at  work  training  two  birds, 
Avhich  were  to  replace  those  in  the  window 
when  they  were  sold. 

The  education  of  this  second  pair  of 
birds  was  almost  completed,  and  Dan  said 
as  much  to  Ellen.  He  had  taught  them 
diiferent  tricks,  and  had  fitted  two  ladders 
in  the  cage,  up  and  down  which  they 
hopped,  keeping  time,  step  for  step. 

"  But  will  they  ever  be  sold  ?  "  exclaimed 
Ellen  almost  despairingly. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  before  we  make  a 
commencement,"  said  Dan.  "  There's 
Susan." 

When  Susan  entered,  she  examined  the 
dress  which  Ellen  was  making,  and  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  — 

"  ^Vlly,  Ellen,  where  are  your  boots  ?  " 

Dan  looked  up  quickly,  and  then  direct- 
ed his  eyes  to  Ellen's  feet.  Poor  Ellen 
stammered  a  good  deal,  and  striving  to 
hide  the  truth  from  Dan,  got  into  a  sad 
bewilderment  of  words. 

"Nay,  but,  Ellen,"  interposed  Dan  in  a 
grave  voice,  "  you  don't  mean  to  say  that 
you  have  been  sitting  all  the  morning 
without  your  boots  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  Ellen,  compelled  to 
confess. 

I  "  But  why,  my  dear?  " 
i  "  When  1  got  up  this  morning,  I  looked 
for  them,  and  could  not  find  them.  Perhaps 
J  can  find  them  now."  And  Ellen  ran 
out  of  the  room ;  but  she  soon  returned, 
shaking  her  head,  and  saying,  "No, 
tliey're  gone.  Never  mind;  it  can't  be 
helped." 

"  You  really  don't  know  what  has  become 
of  them?  " 

"  No,  Dan." 

■  "JDid  you  see  father  last  night  ?  " 


Ellen  shook  her  head. 

"  Nor  this  morning  ?  " 

Ellen  shook  her  head  again. 

"  I  can't  quite  see  what  is  to  be  the  end 
oY  all  this,"  said  Dan  sadly.  "It  is  almost 
too  dreadful  to  think  of.  Father  must  have 
taken  your  boots,  Ellen  dear.  The  night 
before  last  he  took  a  bird-cage ;  that  was 
the  reason  I  had  all  my  birds  in  my  bed- 
room last  night.  It  is  very,  very  dreadful. 
Poor  dear  mother !  Poor  dear  Joshua  !  I 
do  wish  you  were  here  now  to  advise  us 
what  to  do  !  " 

And  the  three  children  then  drew  closer 
together,  and  strove  to  comfort  each 
other. 

"  Dry  your  eyes,  Ellen,"  said  Dan  stout- 
ly ;  "  brighter  days  will  come.  Susan,  have 
you  a  pair  of  old  boots  that  you  can  lend 
to  Ellen  ?  " 

Susan  ran  out  of  the  house  and  returned 
with  a  pair  of  boots  which  she  had  bought 
at  a  second-hand  clothes-shop,  and  which 
Ellen  was  very  thankful  for,  although  they 
were  much  too  large  for  her. 

Mr.  Taylor  came  home  at  midnight  in  a 
state  of  drunken  delirium.  He  had  drunk 
deeply  —  so  deeply,  that  when  he  slammed 
the  street-door  behind  him,  he  found  him- 
self in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  mocking 
eyes,  growing  upon  him  and  blasting  him 
with  their  hideous  looks ;  and  as  he  groped 
his  way  in  terror  up  the  dark  stairs,  a  thou- 
sand misshapen  hands  strove  to  bar  his 
progress.  They  fastened  on  him  and  clung 
to  him  ;  and  the  faster  his  trembling  hands 
beat  them  down  and  tore  them  away,  the 
more  thickly  they  multiplied.  So,  fighting 
and  suffering  and  groaning  in  his  agony, 
the  drunkard  staggered  to  his  room,  and 
Dan  and  Ellen  shuddered  as  they  lay  and 
listened.  Well  for  them  that  they  could 
not  see  as  well  as  hear ;  well  for  them  that 
they  could  not  see  him  pick  the  crawling 
things  (existing  only  in  his  imagination) 
off  his  bed-clothes  and  throw  them  olT  with 
loathing ;  that  they  could  not  see  him, 
bathed  in  perspiration,  writhing  in  his  bed 
and  fighting  with  his  punishment.  He  could 
not  endure  it.  It  was  too  horrible  to 
bear. 

The  room  was  full  of  creeping  shapes, 
visible  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness.  He 
would  go  out  into  the  streets,  into  the  light, 
where  they  could  not  follow  him.  Where 
was  the  door  ?  He  felt  about  the  walls  for 
it.  It  was  gone ;  he  was  closed  in,  im- 
prisoned with  his  teiTors.  He  beat  about 
with  his  hands  deliriously.  The  window  1 
ah,  they  had  not  closed  that !  He  dashed 
at  the  panes,  and  tearing  open  the  case- 
ment with  his  bleeding  fingers,  fell  from  a 
height  of  twenty  feet,  and  met  a  drunkard's 
death. 


DAN  DECLAKES   IT  IS   LIKE  A  ROMANCE. 


67 


CHAPTER    XIIL 

DAN     DECLARES      THAT     IT      IS     LIKE     A 
ROMANCE. 

The  old  gentleman  with  the  hour-glass 
who  never  sleeps  does  not  look  a  day  older, 
and  yet  four  seasons  have  played  their 
parts  and  have  passed  away.  The  white 
hairs  in  George  Marvel's  head  are  multi- 
plying fast,  and  he  grumbles  at  them  as 
usual,  but  has  given  up  the  task  of  jiulling 
them  out.  Great  changes  have  taken 
place  among  Joshua's  friends;  and  Dan, 
lookirig  up  from  his  work,  remarks  some- 
times that  it  is  almost  like  a  romance. 
Judge  if  it  is. 

When  Mr.  Taylor  was  buried  —  when 
the  shame  of  his  death  was  forgotten  and 
only  sorrow  for  it  remained  —  the  children 
found  themselves  in  one  of  those  social 
difBculties  from  which  many  wiser  persons 
than  they  are  unable  to  extricate  them- 
selves. For  the  first  three  or  four  weeks 
after  their  father's  death,  Mrs.  Marvel  and 
Susan  had  between  them  managed  to  de- 
fray the  small  expenses  of  the  house ;  but 
the  tax  was  heavy  —  too  heavy  for  them  to 
continue  to  bear.  One  day,  however,  un- 
expected help  came.  George  Marvel,  in 
his  quiet  way,  had  conceived  a  great  idea, 
and  in  his  quiet  way  had  carried  it  out.  Here 
were  these  two  children  thrown  upon  the 
world.  Not  children  exactly  perhaps,  for 
they  were  nearly  seventeen  years  of  apce ; 
but  one  was  a  cripple,  and  the  other  was  a 
girl.  Tliey  had  been  good  children,  and 
their  character  stood  high  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. Who  ought  to  assist  them  V  The 
neighbors.  Some  one  must  take  it  in  hand, 
and  why  not  he  as  well  as  any  other  per- 
son ?  No  sooner  had  he  made  up  his  mind 
than  he  set  to  work.  He  went  round  to 
the  neighbors  personally,  and  told  them 
what  his  errand  was.  Poor  as  they  were, 
they  gave  their  mites  cheerfully,  with 
scarcely  an  exception.  AVhen  he  had 
made  the  round  of  the  neighbors,  he  went 
to  the  workshops,  and  the  men  there  gave 
their  penny  each,  and  the  boys  their  half- 
pence ;  and  so  swelled  the  total.  His  own 
employers  and  fellow-workmen  were  more 
liberal  than  any.  He  did  not  forget  his 
tradesmen,  his  butcher  and  baker  and  gro- 
cer. They  all  gave  ;  and  the  result  was 
that,  at  the  end  of  the  three  weeks  during 
which  he  had  been  employed  in  his  self- 
imposed  task,  he  had  a  sum  of  not  less 
than  twelve  pounds  four  shillings  in  his 
possession,  to  hand  over  to  Dan  and  Ellen 
to  assist  them  through  their  trouble.  The 
night  he  made  up  his  accounts,  he  told 
his  wife  what  he  had  done,  and  she  blessed 
him  for  it,  and  was  silently  and  devoutly 


grateful  that  Providence  had  given  her  a 
husband  with  such  a  heart. 

The  following  evening  George  Marvel 
visited  the  children,  with  his  bag  of  money 
in  his  coat-tail  pocket.  Ellen  was  at  work, 
and  although  she  looked  pale  in  her  black 
dress,  she  looked  very  pretty.  The  good- 
ness of  the  heart  always  shows  itself  in 
the  face. 

Now  Dan  had  been  thinking  all  day,  and 
indeed  for  many  previous  days,  that  he 
ought  to  consult  some  mature  person  as  to 
what  he  was  to  do.  You  must  understand 
that  Dan,  notwithstanding  that  lie  was  so 
much  younger  than  Susan,  considered  him- 
self the  head  of  the  family.  He  had  his 
plans,  but  he  wanted  advice  concerning 
them.  Up  to  the  present  time,  liis  busi- 
ness in  trained  birds  had  not  flourished. 
It  could  not  be  said  to  have  commenced, 
for  he  had  not  sold  a  bird.  He  had  de- 
cided Mr.  Marvel  would  be  a  proper  person 
to  ask  advice  of,  and  by  good  luck  here 
Mr.  Marvel  was. 

"  Have  you  a  few  minutes  to  spare,  sir  ?  " 
"  Yes,  surely,  Dan,"  replied  Mr.  Marvel. 
"  I  want  to  take  your  advice,  sir,"  com- 
menced Dan  after  a  slight  hesitation.  "  Yoa 
know  how  we  are  situated,  and  how  sud- 
denly our  misfortunes  have  come  upon  us. 
Well,  sir,  we  must  live ;  we  must  have 
bread-and-butter.  Now  the  only  scape- 
grace out  of  the  lot  of  us  is  me  —  don't 
interrupt  me,  Ellen,  nor  you,  sir,  please. 
Susan  is  earning  her  bread-and-butter  and 
something  more.  Ellen  is  earning  enough 
to  keep  her ;  and  I  am  the  only  idle  one  of 
all  of  us,  and  I  am  the  only  one  who  is 
eating  bread-and-butter  and  is  not  earning 
it." 

"  But,  Dan."  interposed  George  Marvel. 
"  No,  sir,  please ;  let  me  go  on.  1  have 
been  eating  the  bread  of  idleness  all  my 
life,  and  I  am  eating  it  now.  It  isn't  right 
that  I  should  do  so.  I  ought  to  earn  my 
own  living.  But  how  ?  1  am  not  like  other 
boys,  and  cannot  do  what  other  boys  can 
do.  One  thing  is  certain  :  I  can't  let  Ellen 
work  for  me,  and  it  would  break  my  heart 
to  part  from  her ;  and  she  would  feel  it  quite 
as  much  as  I  should.  —  Yes,  Ellen,  keep 
your  arm  round  my  neck,  but  don't  speak. 
—  I  tried  to  earn  money,  you  know  that. 
I  trained  some  birds,  and  put  them  in  the 
window,  thinking  that  some  one  would  buy 
them.  But  no  one  has.  I  havn't  earned 
a  penny-piece,  and  every  bit  of  bread  I 
put  into  my  mouth  has  been  2)aid  for  by  Su- 
san and  Ellen." 

Notwithstanding  his  eagerness,  his  tears 
choked  him  here,  and  he  was  compelled  to 
pause  before  he  resumed.  In  the  mean 
time,  obedient  to  his  wish,  neither  Ellea 
nor  All-.  Marvel  spoke. 


68 


JOSHUA  MAKVEL. 


"  Now,  sir,  this  is  my  idea.  I  have  got 
now  twenty-two  birds ;  tliey  can  do  all  sorts 
of  tricks  :  they  can  whistle  tunes ;  they  can 
climb  up  ladders ;  some  of  them  can  march 
like  soldiers  and  can  let  off  guns ;  some  of 
them  can  draw  carts.  Would  it  be  con- 
sidered begging,  if  I,  a  lame  boy,  who  have 
no  other  way  of  getting  bread-and-butter, 
made  an  exliibition  of  these  birds,  and  got 
some  one  to  wheel  me  about  the  streets, 
and  stop  now  and  then  so  that  I  might  put 
the  birds  through  their  tricks  ?  I  shouldn't 
be  ashamed  to  accept  what  kind  persons 
might  give  me,  or  might  drop  into  a  little 
box  which  I  would  take  care  to  have  han- 
dy. I  wouldn't  do  it  in  this  neighborhood. 
I  would  go  a  long  way  oiF —  three  or  four 
miles  perhaps  —  into  the  rich  parts  of  Lon- 
don, where  people  could  better  afford  to 
give.  But  would  it  be  considered  begging  ? 
That  is  what  1  want  to  ask  your  advice 
upon,  sir." 

George  Marvel's  breath  was  completely 
taken  away.  The  enthusiastic  manner  in 
which  Dan  had  spoken,  no  less  than  his 
admiration  of  the  proposed  scheme,  had 
caused  him  to  forget  liis  errand  for  the  time. 
"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said  somewhat  excit- 
edly, "  I  must  think  ;  I  must  walk  about  a 
bit."  But  no  sooner  had  he  risen  than  the 
weight  of  the  money  in  his  coat-tail  pocket 
brought  him  to  his  sober  senses,  and  he  sat 
down  again. 

"  Dan,"  he  said,  taking  the  lad's  hand 
affectionately  in  his,  "  you  are  a  good  boy, 
and  I  am  glad  that  you  are  Joshua's  friend. 
I  will  answer  your  question  and  give  you 
my  advice,  as  you  ask  it.  In  any  other 
case  than  yours  I  think  it  would  be  beg- 
ging ;  but  I  don't  think  it  would  be  in  yours." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Dan  gratefully. 

"  Mind,  I  think  even  in  your  case  it  would 
not  be  exactly  what  I  should  approve  of, 
if  you  had  any  other  way  of  getting  a  liv- 
ing." 

"  You  think  as  I  do,  sir ;  but  I  have  tried, 
as  you  see,  and  I  have  not  succeeded." 

•'  Try  a  little  longer,  Dan." 

"  How  about  next  week's  rent,  sir  ?  " 

"  You  can  pay  it,"  replied  George  Mar- 
vel, "  and  many  more  weeks'  besides.  I 
have  a  present  for  you  in  my  pocket ; " 
and  he  pulled  out  the  bag  of  money  and 
put  it  on  the  table.  "  In  this  bag  is  twelve 
pounds  four  shillings,  which  your  friends  — 
yours  and  your  sisters'  —  have  clubbed  to- 
gether for  you,  and  that  is  what  brought 
me  here  to-night." 

'•  O  sir ! "  cried  Dan,  covering  his  face 
with  his  hands. 

"  This  money  has  been  got  together  be- 
cause all  of  us  round  about  here  love  you. 
I  sha'n't  give  it  to  you  all  at  once.  You 
shall  have  it  so  much  every  week ;  and  I 


should  advise  you  —  as  you  ask  for  my  ad- 
vice—  to  continue  training  birds  for  sale 
and  putting  them  in  your  window.  Try  a 
little  while  longer.  A  customer  may  come 
at  any  minute.  And  one  customer  is  sure 
to  bring  another." 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  and  all  the  good 
people,  sir  ?  "  said  Dan,  with  a  full  heart. 

"  Never  mind  that  now,"  said  George 
Marvel. 

If  he  had  known  that  it  would  have  been 
so  difficult  and  painful  a  task,  it  is  not  un- 
likely he  would  have  remitted  it  to  his  wife 
to  accomplish.  Pi-e  tending  to  be  in  a  great 
hurry,  he  rose  to  go,  and,  pressing  Dan's 
hand  and  kissing  Ellen,  went  home  to  his 
wife  and  told  her  of  Dan's  wonderful  idea. 

Ellen  and  Dan  were  very  happy  the  next 
morning,  and  set  about  their  work  cheer- 
fully and  hopefully.  Dan  wrote  a  new  an- 
nouncement concerning  the  birds,  and  the 
windows  were  cleaned,  and  presented  a 
regular  holiday  appearance.  In  the  midst 
of  his  work,  Dan,  looking  up,  saw  a  face 
at  the  window  that  he  recognized.  It  was 
that  of  a  young  man  who  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  looking  in  at  the  window  near- 
ly every  day  for  the  last  week,  and  of  whom 
Dan  had  observed  more  than  once,  that 
he  looked  like  a  customer. 

"  There  he  is  again,  Ellen,"  said  Dan ; 
"  the  same  man.  Why  doesn't  he  come  in 
and  ask  the  price  of  them  ?  " 

He  had  no  sooner  spoken  the  words  than 
the  man's  face  disappeared  from  the  window, 
and  a  knock  came  at  the  street-door. 

"  Run  and  open  the  door,  Ellen.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  he  has  made  up  his 
mind  at  last."  Dan's  heart  beat  loud  with 
excitement.  "  How  much  shall  I  ask  for 
them  ?  "  he  thought.  "  Oh,  if  he  buys  a 
couple  of  them,  how  happy  I  shall  be  1 " 

The  parlor-door  opened,  and  the  man 
entered ;  decidedly  good-looking,  dark,  with 
a  fresh  color  in  his  face,  and  with  black 
hair  curling  naturally.  The  first  impres- 
sion was  favorable,  and  Dan  nodded  ap- 
provingly to  himself.  The  man  had  curi- 
ously fiat  feet,  which,  when  he  walked, 
seemed  to  do  all  the  work  without  any  as- 
sistance from  his  legs ;  and  although  his 
eyes  were  keen  and  bright,  they  did  not 
look  long  at  one  object,  but  shifted  restless- 
ly, as  if  seeking  a  hiding-place  where  they 
could  retire  from  public  gaze. 

"  I  have  been  attracted  by  the  birds  in 
the  window,"  he  said,  coming  at  once  to 
to  the  point,  much  to  Dan's  satisfaction. 
"  Can  they  really  perform  what  the  paper 
says  ?  Can  they  really  sing  '  God  save  the 
King,'  and  draw  up  their  own  food  and 
water  ?  " 

"  They  can  do  all  that,  sir ;  but  you  shall 
see  for  yourself.  —  Ellen  I     Where  is  El- 


DAN  DECLARES  IT  IS   LIKE   A   ROMANCE. 


69 


len  ?  "  Dan  called  ;  for  he  Tvantcd  her  to 
assist  him,  and  she  had  not  followed  the 
Btrano;er  into  the  room. 

"  Ah,  Ellen,"  said  the  stranger,  dwelling 
on  the  name.  "  Is  that  the  young  lady 
who  opened  the  door  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  —  Ellen  !  "  Dan  called  again. 

"  Allow  me,"  said  the  stranger ;  and  he 
went  to  the  door,  and  called  in  tones  which 
slipped  from  his  throat  as  if  it  was  oiled, 
"  Ellen  I  Ellen  !  "  Then  he  turned  to  Dan, 
and  questioned  :  "  Your  sister  ?  " 

"  Y''es,  sir." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  man  greasily,  "  she  is  ex- 
tremely like  you.  Allow  me.  I  will  bring 
the  cage  to  the  table." 

He  brought  the  cage  from  the  window, 
and  placed  it  before  Dan.  At  that  moment 
Ellen  entered  the  room.  The  man's  eyes 
wandered  all  over  her  as  she  took  her  seat 
at  the  table.  She  did  not  return  his  gaze, 
but  bent  her  head  modestly  to  her  work. 

"  Y'^our  sister's  name  is  Ellen,"  he  said, 
*'  and  yours  ?  " 

"  Daniel,"  said  Dan  ;  "  Daniel  Taylor." 

"  Daniel ;  a  scriptural  name.  Mine  is 
also  a  Scriptural  name  :  Solomon,  Solomon 
Fewster.  Solomon  was  a  wise  man ;  I 
hope  I  take  after  him." 

"  I  hope  so,  I  am  siu-e,  sir,"  said  Dan 
somewhat  impatiently ;  for  he  was  anxious 
to  get  to  business.  "  Now,  sir,  if  you  will 
please  to  look  and  listen." 

He  blew  through  the  tin  whistle  ;  and 
the  bullfinches  piped  "  God  save  the  King." 

"  Very  pretty,  very  pretty,"  said  Solomon 
Fewster,  nodding  his  head  to  the  music. 
"  And  you  taught  them  yourself?  " 

"  Y''es,  sir.  But  it  isn't  as  if  they  will 
only  sing  for  me ;  they  will  sing  for  you,  or 
for  Ellen,  or  for  any  one  who  blows  the 
■whistle." 

"And  they  will  sing  for  Ellen  if  she 
breathes  into  the  whistle  ?  "  said  Solomon 
Fewster.  "  Will  Ellen  breathe  into  the 
whistle  with  her  pretty  red  lips  ?  Allow 
me." 

He  took  the  whistle  from  Dan  and  handed 
it  to  Ellen  ;  and  she  reluctantly  gave  the 
signal  to  the  birds,  who  willingly  obeyed  it. 
^Ir.  Fewster  took  the  whistle  trom  her  and 
blew  ;  and  the  birds  for  the  third  time  piped 
the  air.  Then  Dan  directed  his  attention 
to  the  wooden  whistle,  and  to  the  wonders 
performed  by  the  birds  at  its  dictation. 
Nothing  would  j)lease  Mr.  Fewster  but  that 
Ellen  should  place  the  wooden  whistle  be- 
tween her  "  pretty  red  lips,"  as  he  called  them 
again,  and  "  breathe  into  it."  He  said  that 
"  breathe  "  was  more  appropriate  to  Ellen's 
pretty  lips  than  "  blow."  He,  using  the 
whistle  after  her,  cast  upon  her  such  admir- 
ing looks,  that  he  really  made  her  uncom- 
fortable.     The    performance    being    over. 


Dan  gazed  at  Mr.  Fewster  with  undisguised 
anxiety.  He  had  intended  to  be  very  cun- 
ning, and  to  appear  as  if  he  did  not  care 
whether  he  sold  the  birds  or  not ;  but  the 
efibrt  was  unsviccessful. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Fewster  ;  "  and 
they  are  really  for  sale  V  Poor  little  things  ! 
I  asked  the  price  of  bullfinches  yesterday 
at  a  bird-fancier's,  and  the  man  olfered  to 
sell  them  for  four  pence  each.  Not  that 
these  are  not  worth  a  little  more.  There 
is  the  trouble  of  training  them  ;  of  course 
that  is  worth  a  trifle.  Still  bullfinches  are 
bullfinches  all  the  world  over ;  and  bull- 
finches, I  believe,  are  very  plentiful  just 
now  —  quite  a  glut  of  them  in  the  market." 
He  paused,  to  allow  this  information  to  set- 
tle in  Dan's  mind,  before  he  asked,  "  Now 
what  do  you  want  a  pair  for  these  V  " 

"  What  do  you  think  they  are  worth, 
sir  ?  "  asked  Dan,  much  depressed  by  Mr. 
Fewster's  mode  of  bargaining. 

"  No,  no,  Daniel  Taylor,"  said  Mr.  Few- 
ster, in  a  bantering  tone,  "  I  am  too  old  a 
bird  for  that ;  not  to  be  caught.  Remember 
my  namesake.  Y'^ou  couldn't  have  caught 
him,  you  know ;  even  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
couldn't  catch  him.  I  can't  be  buyer  and 
seller  too.  Put  your  price  upon  the  birds  ; 
and  I  will  tell  you  if  they  suit  rae." 

"  Y'^ou  see,  sir,"  said  Dan  frankly,  "  you 
puzzle  me.  The  training  of  these  birds  has 
taken  me  a  long  time.  You  would  be  sur- 
prised if  you  knew  how  patient  I  have  to  be 
with  them.  And  you  puzzle  me  when  you 
make  so  light  a  thing  of  my  teaching,  and 
when  you  tell  me  that  bullfinches  are  a  glut 
in  the  market.  If  the  bullfinches  you  can 
get  in  the  market  will  suit  you,  sir,  why  do 
you  not  buy  them  ?  " 

"  Well  put,  Daniel,  well  put,"  said  Mr. 
Fewster  good-humoredly.  "  Still,  you  must 
fix  a  price  on  them,  you  know.  How  much 
shall  we  say  ?  " 

"  Fifteen  shillings  the  pair,"  said  Dan 
boldly. 

]Mr.  Fewster  gave  a  long  whistle,  and 
threw  himself  into  an  attitude  of  surprise. 
Dan  shifted  in  his  seat  uneasily. 

"  A  long  price,"  said  Mr.  Fewster,  when 
he  had  recovered  himself;  "  a  very  long 
price." 

"  I  couldn't  take  less,  sir,"  said  Dan- 

"  Not  ten  shillings  ?  Couldn't  you  take 
ten  shillings  ?  "  suggested  Mr.  Fewster, 
throwing  his  head  on  one  side  insinuat- 
ingly. 

There  was  something  almost  imploring 
in  the  expression  on  Dan's  face  as  he 
said, — 

"No,  sir,  I  don't  think  I  could.  You 
haven't  any  idea  what  a  time  they  have 
taken  me  to  train.  I  hoped  to  get  more  for 
them," 


70 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Fewster,  witb 
sudden  animation.  "  Ellen  shall  decide  with 
her  pretty  red  lips.  What  do  you  say, 
Ellen?  Shall  I  give  fifteen  shillings  for 
them?" 

"  They  are  worth  it,  I  am  sure,  sir,"  said 
Ellen  timidly. 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  Mr.  Fewster  gal- 
lantly.    "  Here  is  the  money." 

And  laying  the  money  on  the  table,  Mr. 
Fewster  took  the  cage,  and  shaking  hands 
with  Dan,  and  pressing  Ellen''s  fingers  ten- 
derly, bade  them  good-morning. 

Dan's  delight  may  be  imagined.  It  was 
intensified  a  tew  day's  afterwards,  when  Mr. 
Fewster  called  again,  and  bought  another 
pair  of  birds  ;  Mr.  Fewster  at  the  same  time 
informed  Dan  that  it  was  likely  he  might 
become  a  constant  customer;  and  so  he 
proved  to  be. 

In  the  course  of  a  short  time,  Dan  found 
himself  in  receipt  of  a  regular  income. 
Other  customers  came,  but  Dan  could  not 
supply  them  all,  as  Mr.  Fewster  bought  the 
birds  almost  as  soon  as  they  were  trained. 
Very  soon  Dan  thought  himself  justified  in 
making  a  proposal  to  Susan.  The  proposal 
was  that  they  should  all  live  together  in 
the  house  where  Dan  carried  on  his  busi- 
ness. The  only  obstacle  to  the  carrying 
out  of  the  arrangement  was  Susan's  deter- 
mination not  to  leave  Basil  and  Minnie 
Kindreil.  But  why  should  not  Basil  Kin- 
dred and  his  daughter  come  as  well  ?  asked 
Dan  ;  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  them, 
and  it  would  be  such  company.  And  after 
the  lapse  of  a  little  time,  the  result  that  Dan 
wished  for  was  accompUshed,  and  Basil  and 
Minnie  and  Susan  were  living  with  them. 
They  were  a  very  happy  family.  The  par- 
lor-window had  been  altered  to  allow  more 
space  for  the  bird-cages  ;  and  Dan,  looking 
around  sometimes  upon  the  group  of  happy 
faces,  would  remark  that  it  was  almost  like 
a  romance. 

And  so  indeed  it  was,  notwithstanding 
that  the  scene  was  laid  in  the  humblest  of 
humble  localities. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   STRANGE   COURSES    OF   LOVE. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  absurd  ques- 
tions that  could  be  put  to  a  person  would 
be  to  ask  him  how  old  he  was  when  he  was 
born.  Yet  the  little  old-men's  faces  pos- 
sessed by  some  babies  might  furnish  an  ex- 
cuse for  'such  a  question.  The  shrewd  look, 
the  cunning  twinkle,  the  pinched  nose,  the 


peaked  chin,  the  very  wrinkles  —  you  see 
them  all,  though  the  child  be  but  a  few 
weeks  old.  All  the  signs  of  worldly  cun- 
ning and  worldly  wisdom  are  there,  ready 
made,  unbought  by  worldly  experience ; 
and  as  you  look  at  them  and  wonder  how 
old  the  little  child-man  really  is,  the  object 
of  your  curiosity  returns  your  look  with 
scarcely  less  speculation  in  his  eye  than  you 
have  in  yours.  You  are  conscious  that  you 
are  no  match,  except  in  physical  strength, 
for  the  little  fellow  lying  in  his  mother's 
lap  or  sprawling  in  his  cradle  ;  and  a  curi- 
ous compound  of  pity  and  humiliation  al- 
flicts  you  in  consequence. 

Some  such  a  child  as  this  was  Solomon 
Fewster  before  he  attained  to  the  dignity 
of  boyhood ;  his  parents  and  their  friends 
agreed  in  declaring  that  he  was  a  cunning 
little  fellow,  a  knowing  little  fellow ;  they 
would  poke  their  fingers  in  the  fat  creases 
of  his  neck,  and  would  sportively  say,  "  Oh, 
you  cunning  little  rogue  ! "  "  You  knowing 
little  rogue ! "  and  he  would  crow  and 
laugh,  and  endeavor  to  utter  the  words 
after  them.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  the 
phrase,  and  grew  to  be  so  fond  of  it,  that 
when  he  was  old  enough  to  understand  its 
meaning,  his  chief  desire  seemed  to  be  to 
prove  himself  worthy  of  it.  It  falls  to  the 
lot  of  but  very  few  of  us  to  compass  our 
desires.  Solomon  Fewster  was  one  of  the 
fortunate  exceptions.  He  was  dubbed  a 
cunning  little  rogue,  before  he  knew  what 
such  praise  meant ;  and  (could  it  be  that 
he  was  unwilling  to  trade  under  false  pre- 
tences ?)  when  he  did  know,  he  educated 
himself  to  deserve  it,  and  succeeded.  A 
small  percentage  of  the  old-men  babies 
retain  their  old-men's  looks  as  they  grow 
to  boyhood;  specimens  of  these  can  be 
seen  any  day  in  our  courts  and  alleys. 
This  was  not  the  case  with  Solomon  Fews- 
ter ;  as  he  grew,  the  old-man's  look  faded 
from  his  face,  and  the  spirit  of  "  a  cunning 
little  rogue "  took  root  in  his  heart,  and 
flourished  there.  His  parents  dying  when 
he  was  a  child,  he  was  left  to  the  charge  of 
a  bachelor  uncle,  an  undertaker  by  trade, 
who  adopted  and  educated  him.  When 
he  was  taken  from  school  —  where  he  was 
the  cunniugest  boy  of  them  all — he  was 
initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  the  undertak- 
ing business,  and  when  he  was  of  age  he 
was  intrusted  with  a  responsible  position, 
and  his  uncle  made  a  will  leaving  every 
thing  to  him.  He  proved  himself  an  inval- 
uable ally ;  was  grieved  to  the  heart  at  the 
losses  sustained  by  his  uncle's  customers ; 
wept  when  he  assisted  at  measurements ; 
was  broken-hearted  when  the  clay  was 
taken  from  the  house  ;  and  sobbed  with  aa 
almost  utter  prostration  of  spirit  when  he 
receipted  the  account,  and  signed  Payment 


THE   STRANGE   COURSES  OF  LOVE. 


71 


in  Full.  He  entered  heart  and  soul  into 
the  business,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  it. 
Whether  it  was  because  he  looked  upon 
himself  as  the  future  master  of  the  estab- 
lishment, or  because  it  was  congenial  to  his 
nature,  he  strove  by  every  means  in  his 
power  to  extend  the  connection  ;  and  being 
as  acute  and  sensible  as  a  man  of  double 
his  age,  his  efforts  were  successful  and  the 
business  ilourished.  Death  was  most  obli- 
ging to  him,  and  waited  and  fawned  upon 
him  at  every  step  he  took.  If  his  sjiirits 
became  depressed  because  trade  was  slack, 
a  fortunate  epidemic  restored  him  to  his 
usual  cheerfulness,  and  orders  poui'ed  in  ; 
and  it  is  no  disparagement  of  him,  as  an 
undertaker,  to  state  that  he  buried  his 
friends  and  acquaintances  with  melancholy 
satisfaction.  When  he  was  twenty-three 
years  of  age  his  uncle  died.  lie  paid  the 
old  gentleman  every  possible  mark  of  re- 
spect :  had  the  coffin  lined  with  white  satin  ; 
wept  till  his  face  was  puffed ;  entered  the  ex- 
pense of  the  funeral  in  the  ledger  to  the  debit 
of  the  deceased,  and  wiped  off  the  amount  at 
once  as  a  bad  debt.  Then  he  set  to  work 
vigorously  upon  his  own  account.  He  had 
his  name  painted  over  the  door,  and  issued 
circulars  to  every  house  for  miles  round. 
In  those  circulars  he  announced  that  he  un- 
dertook and  conducted  funerals  cheaper 
than  any  other  undertaker  in  London  ;  said 
that  one  trial  would  prove  the  fact ;  and 
respectfully  soUcited  the  patronage  of  his 
friends  and  the  public.  His  appeal  was 
successful ;  his  trade  increased ;  and  Solo- 
mon Fewster  was  generally  spoken  of  as  a 
man  on  the  high-road  to  prosperity. 

When  Solomon  Fewster  first  saw  Ellen, 
she  was  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  he  was 
seized  with  a  sudden  admiration  for  her 
pretty  face  and  graceful  figui-e.  He  had 
never  seen  a  girl  so  winsome  ;  and  when 
they  met  again,  he  followed  her  admiringly 
to  her  home,  and  saw  the  exhibition  of 
the  bullfinches  in  Dan's  window.  Here 
was  an  opportunity  to  stare  at  her ;  and  he 
enjoyed  the  cheap  pleasure  again  and 
again  until  Dan  noticed  his  face  at  the 
window.  Then  a  happy  thought  entered 
Mr.  Fewster's  niiud.  The  birds  certainly 
were  wonderfully  intelligent,  and  their 
clever  tricks  would  most  likely  render  them 
easy  of  disposal.  He  entered  into  commu- 
nication with  a  West-end  fashionable  bird- 
fancier —  the  farther  away  from  Dan  the 
better,  he  thought  —  and  the  bird-fancier 
(who  had  a  connection  among  fine  ladies) 
informed  him  that  if  the  birds  could  really 
do  all  that  he  stated,  a  profitable  trade 
might  be  established  between  them. 
"  What  a  fine  opportunity,"  thought  Solo- 
mon Fewster,  "  of  introducing  myself  to 
the  pretty  girl  in  the  light  of  a  benefac- 


tor !  "  Then  came  the  first  interview  and 
the  first  purchase.  The  pair  of  bullfinches 
he  bought  for  fifteen  shillings  he  sold  for 
thirty  ;  and  the  following  week  the  fashion- 
able bird-fancier  asked  for  more.  Thus  it 
was  that  Solomon  Fewster  made  his  grow- 
ing passion  for  Ellen  a  means  of  putting 
money  in  his  purse ;  and  thus  it  was  that 
he  came  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  privilegod 
visitor  to  the  house. 

The  Old  Sailor  also  found  his  way  to  the 
house.  He  was  not  as  frequent  a  visitor  as 
Mr.  Fewster,  but  he  was  a  more  welcome 
one.  The  Old  Sailor  might  have  been  a 
child,  his  heart  was  so  green ;  and  he  had 
such  a  fund  of  stories  to  tell,  and  he  told 
them  with  such  simplicity  and  enthusiasm, 
believing  in  them  thoroughly,  however 
wild  they  were,  that  his  hearers  would 
hang  upon  his  words,  and  laugh  with 
him,  and  sorrow  with  him  according 
to  the  nature  of  his  narrative.  They 
spent  the  pleasantest  of  jjleasant  evenings 
together,  and  when  Praiseworthy  Meddler 
told  his  sea-stories,  IVIinnie  would  sit  very 
quiet  on  the  floor  —  a  favorite  fashion  of 
hers  —  listening  eagerly  to  every  word  that 
dropped  from  his  lips.  Then  Basil  Kin- 
dred would  read  Shakspeare  when  he 
could  be  coaxed  into  the  humor,  and  would 
keep  them  spell-bound  by  his  eloquence. 
He  had  ceased  wandering  in  the  streets 
and  begging  for  his  living.  Necessity  was 
his  master  there.  He  was  stricken  down 
with  I'heumatic  fever,  which  so  prostrated 
him  that  he  was  unable  to  pursue  his  va- 
grant career.  They  had  a  very  hard  task  in 
inducing  him  to  remain  with  them. 

"  Live  upon  you,  my  dear  lad !  "  he  ex- 
claimed loftily.     "  No ;  I  will  perish  first !  " 

"  There  is  enough  for  all,  sir,"  replied 
Dan.     "  Do  not  go.     I  would  take  from  you 

—  indeed,  indeed  I  would  !  —  could  we 
change  places.     And  there  is  Minnie,  sir," 

—  with  such  a  wistful  tender  glance 
towards  Minnie,  who  was  growing  very 
beautiful,  —  "what  would  she  do?  But 
not  for  her  nor  for  you  do  I  ask  this,  sir. 
It  is  for  me ;  for  Ellen  and  Susan  and 
Joshua.  How  happy  he  will  be  to  find 
you  here  when  he  returns  !  You  and  Min- 
nie, that  he  talked  of  so  often,  and  with 
such  affection !  Then  think,  sir.  You 
would  not  like  to  be  the  means  of  breaking 
up  our  little  happy  circle ;  and  it  is  happy, 
isn't  it,  Minnie  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  Dan  !  "  replied  Minnie,  with  an 
anxious  look  at  her  father.  "  Only  one  is 
wanting  to  make  it  perfect." 

"  And  that  one  is  Joshua,"  said  Dan,  di- 
vining whom  she  meant,  and  grateful  to 
her  for  the  thought. 

"  And  that  one  is  Joshua,"  she  repeated 
softly,  placing  her  shell  to  his  ear.     "  Do 


72 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


you  hear  it  ?     Is  it  not  sweet,  the  singing 
of  the  sea  ?  " 

But  all  argument  and  entreaty  would 
have  been  thrown  away  upon  Basil  if  it 
had  not  been  for  Minnie.  It  was  she  who, 
when  they  were  alone,  prevailed  upon  him 
to  stay. 

"  Your  mother  suffered  for  me  and  died 
for  me,"  he  said  to  her,  as  he  lay  upon  his 
bed  of  pain.  "  How  like  her  you  are  grow- 
ing, Minnie!  Well,  well,  one  is  enough.  I 
will  stay,  child,  for  your  sake." 

And  she  kissed  him  and  thanked  him, 
and  whispered  that  he  had  made  her 
happy. 

The  next  day  she  told  Dan  in  a  whisper 
that  lather  was  not  going  away ;  and  Dan 
clapped  his  hands,  and  quietly  said, 
"  Bravo ! " 

"  And  Joshua  used  to  speak  about  us  ?  " 
she  remarked,  with  assumed  carelessness. 

"  Often  and  often,  Minnie,"  answered 
Dan. 

"  And  really  speak  of  us  affectionately  ?  " 
"  Ah  !  if  you  had  only  heard  him  I     You 
know  what  a  voice  he  has  —  like  music." 

A  sudden  flush  in  her  face,  a  rapid  beat- 
ing at  her  heart,  a  rush  of  teai's  to  her 
eyes.  None  of  which  did  Dan  notice,  for 
her  eyes  were  towards  the  ground.  A  little 
while  afterwards  she  was  singing  about  the 
house  as  blithe  as  a  bird.  Dan,  stopping 
in  the  midst  of  his  work,  listened  to  the 
soft  rustle  of  her  dress  in  the  passage,  and 
to  her  soft  singing  as  she  went  up  the 
stairs;  and  a  grateful  look  stole  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Not  to  hear  that !  "  he  said.  "  Ah,  it 
would  be  worse  than  death !  But  she  is 
going  to  stay,  birdie,"  nodding  gayly  to  one 
of  his  pets  ;  "  she  is  going  to  stay  !  " 

Dan  told  Minnie  of  the  pretty  f  mcies  he 
had  in  connection  with  his  friend ;  of  the 
manner  in  which  his  love  had  grown,  until 
it  was  welded  in  his  heart  for  ever  and 
ever;  of  Joshua's  care  and  self-devotion 
towards  him,  the  poor  useless  cripple.  He 
told  her  of  his  fancy  about  the  dream- 
theory,  and  how  he  had  believed  in  it,  and 
of  the  experiments  he  had  made.  And 
Minnie  listened  with  delight,  and  sympa- 
thized with  Dan  —  ay,  and  shed  tears  with 
him  —  and  showed  in  every  word  she  ut- 
tered how  thoroughly  she  understood  his 
feelings. 

"  I  have  dreamed  of  him  over  and  over 
again,"  said  Dan ;  "  but  of  course  I  don't 
know,  and  indeed  I  can't  believe,  that  I 
have  dreamed  of  him  as  he  is.  He  is  a  man 
by  this  time,  Minnie  ;  and  —  let  me  see  I  — 
he  is  standing  on  his  ship,  with  his  bright 
eyes  and  handsome  face  "  — 

"Yes!  "  interrupted  Minnie  eagerly. 
"  Made  brighter  and  handsomer  by  Uving 


on  the  open  sea  and  away  from  narrow 
streets.  I  can  see  the  spray  dashing  up 
into  his  eyes,  and  he  shaking  it  off  laugh- 
ing the  while." 
"  Yes,  yes  I  "  said  Minnie  enthusiastically. 
"  You  can  see  him  too,  Minnie.  1  feel 
that  you  can.  Is  he  not  handsome  and 
brave  ?  I  can  hear  him  say,  as  he  looks 
round  upon  the  grand  sea  and  up  at  the 
beautiful  clouds,  —  I  can  hear  him  say, 
'Dan  is  here  with  me,  although  I  cannot 
see  him.'     He  has  me  in  his  heart,  as  I 


have  him.  It  was  a  compact.  We  were  to 
be  always  together,  and  we  are.  Dear  Jo  !  " 
He  paused  a  while,  and  Minnie,  her  hands 
clasped  in  her  lap,  gazed  before  her,  and 
saw  the  picture  painted  by  Dan's  words. 
Many  such  conversations  they  had,  and  the 
theme  was  always  the  same. 

Shortly  after  the  death  of  Mr.  Taylor 
the  Old  Sailor  came  to  see  the  children. 
He  did  not  know  of  the  loss  they  had  sus- 
tained ;  and  when  he  heard  that  iDoth  father 
and  mother  were  dead,  he  was  much  grieved. 
The  news  so  disconcerted  him  that  he  rose 
to  go  three  or  four  times,  and  each  time 
sat  down  again,  as  if  he  had  something  on 
his  mhid  he  wished  to  get  rid  of  first.  As 
a  proof  that  he  was  mentally  disturbed,  he 
dabbed  his  fiice  more  frequently  than  usual 
with  his  blue-cotton  pocket-handkerchief, 
folding  it  up  carefully  before  he  put  it  in 
the  breast  of  his  shirt,  as  if  he  were  folding 
up  his  secret  in  it,  and  afterwards  taking  it 
out  and  unfolding  it,  as  if  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  at  last  to  disclose  what  that  secret 
was.  When  he  found  courage  to  speak, 
Dan  learned  that  the  bullfinches  which 
Joshua  and  he  had  presented  to  the  Old 
Sailor  were  dead. 

"  Died  yesterday  morning,  my  lad,"  said 
the  Old  Sailor;  "  died  just  as  we  were  be- 
o;inning  to  understand  each  other.  Sailor 
birds  they  were,  and  they  could  climb  ropes 
as  well  as  any  bird  in  the  service." 

"  I  am  sorry  they  are  dead,  sir,"  said  Dan  ; 
"  but  I  can  give  you  another  pair." 

"  No,  Dan,  no.  I'll  not  have  any  more; 
they  wouldn't  be  safe." 

"  Not  safe  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  mutineer  in  the  crew,  mj 
lad,"  said  the  Old  Sailor,  dropping  his 
voice.  "  It  comes  awkward  for  me  to  tell 
you  ;  but  you  ought  to  know  —  and  duty 
before  every  thing.  The  pretty  birds  were 
poisoned." 

"Who  could  have  been  so  cruel  as  to 
poison  the  innocent  creatures?"  asked 
Dan  sorrowfully. 

"  That  damned  copper-colored  son  of  a 
thief  who  cooked  for  me  1 "  replied  the  Old 
Sailor  excitedly.  "  You  saw  him  when  you 
were  on  my  ship.  He  had  rings  in  his 
ears." 


THE  STRANGE  COURSES  OF  LOVE. 


73 


"I  remember.  He  was  a  Lascar,  you 
told  us." 

"  The  treacherous  doo;  I  "  exclaimed  the 
Old  Sailor  wrathf'ully,  dabbini;  his  face. 
"  But  I  did  what  was  right  to  him.  I 
flogged  him  with  a  rope's  end  till  he  couldn't 
stand." 

"  He  knew  that  Joshua  gave  you  the  birds, 
sir  ?  " 

"  Ay,  he  knew  it.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
my  lad,  I  christened  the  birds  Josh  and  Dan, 
and  used  to  call  them  by  their  names.  They 
were  as  sensible  as  human  beings,  and  I 
gave  them  decent  burial.  1  sewed  them  in 
canvas,  and  weighted  it  with  shot,  and 
slipped  it  ofl"  a  plank.  I'll  not  have  any 
more  of  them,  Dan.  That  lubberly  thief 
would  crawl  on  boai-d  one  night  and  murder 
them  too.  No,  no,  my  lad ;  no  more  birds 
for  me." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do," 
said  Dan.  "  I  will  give  you  another  pair 
of  birds,  and  I  will  keep  them  for  you,  and 
you  will  come  here  sometimes  and  see  how 
they  are  getting  along.  That's  a  good  idea, 
isn't  it,  sir  ?  " 

The  Old  Sailor  admitted  that  it  was,  and 
thus  it  fell  out  that  he  became  a  visitor  to 
the  house.  Dan  bought  a  toy  ship,  with 
sails  and  masts  and  slender  ropes  all  com- 
plete, and  taught  the  birds  to  climb  the  ropes 
and  masts,  which  they  did  dettly,  although 
not  in  sailor  fashion,  hand-over-hand  ;  and 
his  thoughtful  conceit  filled  the  Old  Sailor 
with  infinite  delight. 

It  was  Susan's  good  fortune  not  to  meet 
the  Lascar  for  many  months  after  the  event- 
ful occurrence  in  which  Joshua  had  played 
so  prominent  a  part.  But  one  evening, 
when  she  and  Ellen  were  returning  home, 
she  met  him  face  to  face. 

"  Stop  1 "  cried  the  Lascar,  noticing  Su- 
san's agitation  with  secret  pleasure.  "  You 
don't  forget  me,  do  you  ?  " 

Ellen,  raising  her  eyes,  saw  and  recog- 
nized the  Lascar,  and  was  recognized  by 
him  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Ah  ! "  he  said,  "  I  remember  you.  You 
came  one  day  with  a  lame  boy  and  that 
young  thief  Joshua  Marvel  —  curse  him  ! 
—  to  see  Mr.  Meddler's  boat." 

Ellen  tried  to  hui-ry  Susan  along,  but  the 
Lascar  stood  directly  in  their  path. 

"  Not  yet,  my  beauty.  You  are  about 
the  prettiest  girl  I've  ever  seen.  ^^Tiat's 
yom*  name  ?  " 

Ellen  was  not  so  overcome  with  fear  as 
to  entirely  lose  her  self-possession.  Had 
she  been  alone,  she  would  have  run  away. 
But  Susan  was  clinging  to  her,  almost 
fainting  with  terror.  On  the  opposite  side 
of  the  road  she  saw  a  man  walking  towards 
them. 

"  Help !  "  she  cried  ;  but  she  could  have 


bitten  her  lip  with  vexation  when  she  found 
that  it  was  Solomon  Fewster  who  respond- 
ed to  her  appeal.  However,  there  Solo- 
mon Fewster  was,  ready  to  grai)plc  with 
the  enemy  and  to  die  in  Ellen's  defence. 
The  occasion  for  a  display  of  heroism  was 
as  good  as  he  could  have  desired. 

"  AV'here  is  he  ?  "  he  cried  valiantly  ; 
"  where's  the  villain  who  has  dared  to 
frighten  ray  pretty  Ellen  '?  " 

He  said  this  with  such  a  presumptuous 
air  of  being  her  defender  by  natural  right, 
that  Ellen  was  annoyed  and  displeased. 
But  she  could  not  be  uncivil  to  him.  Slie 
thanked  him  for  coming  to  their  help,  and 
he  asked  to  be  allowed  to  see  them  home. 
But  Ellen  refused,  and  although  he  pleaded 
hard,  she  was  firm. 

She  was  especially  angry  because  of  his 
calling  her  his  pretty  Ellen.  Glad  as  she 
would  have  been  of  a  protector,  she  rightly 
thought  that  it  would  be  giving  Mr.  Few- 
ster encouragement  if  she  allowed  him  to 
assume  that  office.  So,  with  many  distress- 
ingly-tender protestations,  he  took  his  de- 
parture, congratulating  himself  upon  the 
adventure,  and  Susan  and  Ellen  walked 
homewards. 

Ellen  was  very  anxious  to  know  all 
about  the  Lascar,  and  why  Susan  was 
frightened  at  him.  Susan  told  her  all,  and 
Ellen's  fiice  glowed  with  delight  at  Joshua's 
courage. 

"  Brave  Joshua !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Isn't 
he  a  hero,  Susan  ?  " 

Notwithstanding  that  she  had  not  recov- 
ered from  her  fright  at  meeting  the  Lascar, 
Susan  could  not  help  smiling  at  Ellen's  en- 
thusiasm. 

"  He  was  to  be  away  a  year,"  said  Ellen, 
"  and  it  is  now  two  years  and  four  months." 

"  And  how  many  weeks,  and  how  many 
days,  and  how  many  hours  ?  "  interrupted 
Susan,  half  gayly.  "  You  could  tell,  I  dare 
say,  Ellen,  couldn't  you,  if  you  were  put 
to  it  ? "  Ellen  looked  shyly  at  Susan. 
"  What  a  change  he  will  find  in  you,  my 
dear  !  "  Susan  continued  tenderly.  "  In 
the  place  of  a  plain  little  girl  he  will  find 
a  very  pretty  woman." 

"  0  Susey  !  calling  me  a  woman  !  " 

"  Well,  you  are,  dear,  or  you  will  be 
when  he  comes  back.     I  wonder  " — 

But  Susan  did  not  say  what  it  was  she 
wondered  at,  but  stopped,  most  unaccount- 
ably, in  the  middle  of  the  street  and  kissed 
Ellen  in  a  motherly  kind  of  way.  The  ca- 
ress set  Ellen  a-blushing,  and  she  fell  into 
a  state  of  happy  musing;.  They  were  very 
near  home  when  a  voice  at  their  side 
said, — 

"  You  thought  you  had  escaped  me,  eh  ?  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  Lascar,  who  had 
dogged  them  until  he  found  an  opportunity 


74 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


of  speakinof  to  them  without  attracting  at- 
tention. Their  hearts  beat  fast,  but  they 
did  not  turn  their  heads. 

"  Don't  say  a  word,"  whispered  Ellen, 
"  don't  speak,  don't  stop,  don't  look  !  We 
shall  be  home  directly." 

"  So  Joshua  Marvel  hasn't  come  back 
yet,"  he  said  with  bitter  emphasis.  "  He 
is  a  long  time  gone ;  but  wait  till  he  comes. 
I  go  every  da}-  to  see  the  cross  I  put  against 
him,  and  it  grows  brighter  and  brighter.  I 
curse  him  every  night.  Perhaps  he  thinks 
that  I  forget.  He  shall  see  if  I  do."  He 
gasped  this  at  intervals,  for  the  girls  were 
now  almost  running  in  their  terror.  "  Tell 
him,"  hissed  the  Lascar,  "  when  he  comes 
home  that  I  poisoned  that  old  thief  s  birds 
because  Joshua  gave  them  to  him,  and  be- 
cause the  old  thief  used  to  call  one  of  them 
by  his  name.  Curse  him  !  And  you  !  "  he 
exclaimed  savagely,  touching  Susan's  arm. 
"See  you — remember!  My  shadow  fol- 
lows you  from  this  day,  you  damned  witch  1 
for  it  was  because  of  you  that  he  came 
across  me.  Oh,  you  live  there,  do  you  ? 
Dream  of  my  shadow,  you  cat,  to-night.  It 
sliall  stand  at  your  bedside.  Blot  it  out  if 
you  can." 

He  had  worked  himself  into  a  horrible 
rage ;  his  passion  made  a  madman  of  him  ; 
yet  he  did  not  attempt  to  stop  them  as  they 
darted  in  at  the  door,  but  stood  aside  and 
looked  at  the  house,  and  marked  it  and 
lingered  about  it  for  half  an  hour  after- 
wards. In  the  mean  time  Ellen  and  Susan 
had  run  into  their  bedroom  and  locked  the 
door.  It  was  a  long  time  before  they  re- 
covered from  their  agitation.  Susan  was 
in  an  agony  of  terror ;  all  her  old  fears 
came  with  stronger  force  upon  her.  She 
pressed  her  fingers  upon  her  eyes  and  threw 
herself  upon  the  ground,  .shuddering  and 
moaning. 

"  Do  you  see  his  shadow,  Ellen  ?  "  she 
moaned.     "  Do  you  see  it  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  room  but  you 
and  me,  dear  Susey,"  said  Ellen,  smooth- 
ing Susan's  hair,  and  striving  by  every 
means  to  soothe  her.  "  Why,  I  am  braver 
than  you,  and  I  am  ever  so  much  younger. 
What  have  we  to  be  afraid  of  ?  A  drunk- 
en man  !  You  stupid  Susey  !  And  as  for 
shadows,  who  believes  in  them  ?  " 

"  I  do.  I  have  seen  them  and  felt  them. 
I  have  heard  them  creeping  after  me  in  the 
dark,  and  I  have  been  frightened  to  turn. 
I  have  felt  their  breath  upon  my  face  — 
and  it  is  like  death  —  like  death  !  " 

All  Ellen's  efforts  to  tranquillize  her  were 
unavailing.  Susan  did  not  leave  her  room 
again  that  evening,  and  during  the  night 
that  followed  she  awoke  a  dozen  times,  and 
her  fevered  imagination  conjured  up  the 
shadow  of  the  Lascar  standing  at  her  bed- 


side, pointing  to  a  cross  of  blood  which 
shone  with  cruel  distinctness  in  the  midst 
of  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SOLOMON  FEWSTER  GIVES  THE  LASCAR  A 
FLOWER. 

Early  in  the  new  year  letters  from 
Joshua  reached  home.  With  what  joy  they 
were  read  !  In  one  of  them  he  wrote  :  "  I 
remember  saying  that  I  should  be  home  in 
twelve  months ;  but  that  time  has  passed, 
and  another  twelve  months,  and  nearly  an- 
other, and  still  there  is  no  talk  of  returning. 
If  I  stay  away  much  longer  you  won't  know 
me  when  you  see  me.  Upon  my  word,  I 
think  if  I  were  to  open  the  door  now  and 
walk  in  suddenly,  you  would  be  puzzled  to 
know  whether  I  was  really  myself  or  some- 
body else." 

When  they  read  this  they  all  raised  their 
heads  and  looked  towards  the  door,  wishing 
that  Joshua  would  turn  the  handle  and 
walk  into  the  room. 

The  evening  of  the  day  on  which  the  let- 
ters arrived  was  spent  in  grand  state  in 
Dan's  house.  Every  member  of  the  Mar- 
vel family  was  there,  and  the  Old  Sailor, 
and  Solomon  Fewster  as  well ;  so  that  the 
little  parlor  was  quite  full,  and  all  the  chairs 
had  to  be  brought  from  the  bedroom  and 
the  kite-hen  to  provide  seats  for  the  com- 
pany. The  letters  were  read  aloud,  and 
commented  upon  and  rejoiced  over. 

"  It  isn't  as  good  as  Joshua's  being  here," 
said  Dan,  looking  round  with  a  happy  face ; 
"  but  it  is  next  door  to  it.  I  tell  you  what 
pleases  me  almost  as  much  as  any  thing  in 
the  letters  —  it  is  that  Jo's  a  favorite  with 
the  men.  Hear  what  he  says  :  "  I  play  to 
them  on  my  accordion  two  or  three  times 
a  week,  and  according  to  them  I  am  a 
splendid  musician  —  which  I  am  not,  you 
know,  for  I  only  play  simple  tunes. 
Last  week  the  captain  sent  for  me  and  told 
me  that  some  passengers  who  were  on 
board  wanted  to  dance,  and  wished  me  to 
play  for  them.  Of  course  I  fetched  the  ac- 
cordion at  once.  You  should  have  seen 
us  !  I  played  for  them  twice  after  that 
night ;  and  yesterday  Avhen  we  arrived  at 
Sydney  —  Oh,  Dan !  such  a  lovely  place, 
with  such  a  bay  !  —  they  gave  me  a  sover- 
eign, which  I  put  into  Ellen's  purse.  Tell 
Ellen  that !  " 

A  blush  came  into  Ellen's  face,  and  her 
heart  beat  more  quickly,  when  she  heard 
that  Joshua  was  so  careful  of  the  purse  she 
had  worked  for  him. 


FEWSTER  GIVES  THE  LASCAR  A 


Filled  with  such  like  matter,  the  letters 
could  not  fail  to  be  a  source  of  delight. 
Dan  was  commissioned  to  scive  Joshua's  love 
to  Ellen,  and  Ellen  was  asked  to  pay  a  visit 
to  the  Old  Sailor,  and  to  tell  him  that 
Joshua  was  doing  his  duty.  Susan  received 
messajjes  for  Basil  and  Minnie,  and  was  to 
tell  Minnie  that  Joshua  would  bring  her 
some  beautiful  shells  —  "shells  in  which 
Minnie  can  hear  the  waves  singing  to  each 
other  in  whispers,"  Joshua  wrote,  almost 
poetically. 

Minnie,  sitting  in  her  corner,  scarcely 
spoke  a  word  ;  she  was  thinking  of  the  sail- 
or-lad wlio  had  been  so  kind  to  her,  and  she 
was  looking  with  the  eyes  of  her  mind  upon 
the  picture  which  Dan  had  painted  of 
Joshua,  with  his  handsome  face  and  free 
waving  hair,  standing  on  the  deck,  and 
lau<ihin2:ly  shaking  the  spray  from  his  eyes. 

The  Old  Sailor  nodded  approval  as  the 
letters  were  read,  and  then  traced  Joshua's 
course  on  a  map  which  he  had  brought  with 
him,  stopping  many  times  to  tell  the  eager 
on-lookers  of  the  wonders  and  the  glories 
of  the  beautiful  South  Pacific.  The  map 
was  spread  on  the  table,  and  it  was  not  an 
unattractive  picture  to  see  them  all  clus- 
tered round  the  Old  Sailor,  peeping  over 
his  shoulders  and  under  his  arms,  as  with 
his  great  forefinger  he  followed  the  ship 
from  port  to  port.  Mrs.  Marvel,  who  had 
taken  to  spectacles,  found  them  of  but  little 
use  to  her  on  this  occasion,  for  the  obstinate 
tears  came  into  her  eyes  and  dropped  into 
the  ocean  which  the  Old  Sailor's  forefinger 
was  ploughing.  Minnie  leaned  over  Dan's 
shoulder,  and  the  table  was  so  small  that 
she  had  to  put  her  arm  round  Dan's  neck 
and  to  put  her  face  close  to  his,  so  that  she 
might  see.  A  strange  feeling  of  happiness 
came  upon  Dan  as  her  cheek  nestled  close 
to  his  ;  a  feeling  of  happiness  so  exquisite 
that  all  his  senses  were  merged  in  it.  The 
common  parlor,  the  eager  faces  peering  at 
the  map,  the  pleasant  voice  of  the  Old  Sail- 
or explaining  the  route,  all  faded  from  before 
him,  and  he  was  conscious  of  nothing  but 
Minnie's  presence.  He  felt  the  warm  con- 
tact of  a  soft  hand ;  it  was  Minnie's  hand, 
which  in  her  eager  abstraction  she  had 
placed  on  his.  He  folded  it  in  his,  and  she 
allowed  it  to  rest  there.  It  was  like  a 
dream.  He  feared  to  move,  and  held  his 
breath  lest  he  should  awake.  A  sudden 
murmur  of  voices  —  voices  that  sounded  for 
a  moment  as  if  they  came  from  afar  off — 
aroused  him ;  he  looked  into  IMinnie's  face, 
and  saw  it  lighted  up  with  a  happiness  that 
seemed  to  be  a  reflex  of  his  own ;  and  as 
she  turned  her  eyes  to  his,  so  luminous  a 
beauty  dwelt  in  them  that  he  could  have 
fallen  at  her  feet  and  worshipped  her.  But 
the  dream  was  at  an  end  —  the  blissful  si- 


lence  which  had  cncoft>):^^l  him  wasiji 
vaded.  Minnie  had  returned  to  her  cerflSr, 
and  his  friends  were  speaking  together, 
and  laughing,  and  appealing  to  him  upon 
some  point  which  he  had  not  heard.  Dan 
still  felt  the  warm  pressure  of  Minnie's  hand 
and  the  soft  contact  of  her  cheek ;  and  un- 
observed he  rested  his  lips  upon  the  palm 
which  had  clasped  hers,  and  kissed  it  softl  j 
and  wonderingly. 

There  was  only  one  person  in  the  party 
who  did  not  feel  happy.  ITaat  one  wa« 
Solomon  Fewster.  Directly  he  entered  tha 
room  he  had  been  gi'eeted  with  the  joyful 
tidings ;  and  understanding  that  he  was  ex- 
pected to  share  in  the  general  excitement  of 
pleasure,  he  professed  a  delight  which  he  did 
not  experience.  That  afternoon  he  had  pur- 
chased a  rare  flower,  Avhich  it  was  his  in- 
tention to  present  to  Ellen.  He  had  brood- 
ed over  the  idea  for  several  days,  and  had 
decided  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  do. 
As  he  entered  the  room  with  the  flower  in 
the  button-hole  of  his  coat,  he  was  already 
primed  with  a  few  complimentary  words 
which  he  had  learned  by  heart  to  say  to 
Ellen,  when  he  presented  his  gift.  Ellen 
had  never  before  looked  so  pretty,  he 
thought.  Her  eyes  were  brighter,  and  there 
was  a  more  joyous  animation  than  usual  in 
her  manner.  She  greeted  him  with  a 
smile  so  much  more  gracious  than  he  was 
accustomed  to  receive  from  her,  that  he  con- 
gratulated himself  upon  the  purchase  of  tha 
flower.  She  gave  him  her  hand  with  more 
than  her  usual  warmth,  and  when  he  ven- 
tured gently  to  press  it,  she  did  not  resent 
the  liberty.  The  fact  was,  she  did  not  ncn 
tice  it.  She  was  full  of  joy,  and,  as  is  the 
case  with  all  amiable  natures,  she  dispensed 
gleams  of  her  happiness  to  all  with  whom 
she  came  in  contact.  Unless  we  are  too 
much  engrossed  in  our  own  special  cares, 
we  sometimes  meet  with  such  like  happy 
faces  in  the  streets  —  fa'ces  which  seem 
to  say,  "  We  are  happy ;  be  happy  with 
us  "  —  faces  which,  although  quite  strange 
to  us,  which  we  have  never  seen  before  and 
may  never  see  again,  will  kindle  with  a 
smile  of  welcome  upon  the  smallest  en- 
couragement. 

But  Solomon  Fewster  was  terribly  dis- 
comfited when  he  learned  the  reason  of  her 
cheerfulness  and  animation  ;  it  was  because 
letters  had  been  received  from  Joshua.  He 
determined  not  to  present  his  flower  jusi 
then,  for  he  read  something  in  Ellen's 
blushes  that  sorely  galled  him.  He  could 
not  help  thinking  that  the  fuss  they  were 
making  about  a  common  sailor-boy,  and  the 
laughing  and  the  crying  they  indulged  in 
over  Joshua's  stupid  letters,  were  utterly 
ridiculous,  and  in  a  sort  of  way  derogatory 
to  himself,  Dan's  best  patron. 


76 


JOSHUA  MARVEL, 


As  the  night  wore  on,  his  anger  and 
uneasiness  increased ;  and  yet  he  lingered 
until  the  last  moment,  torturing  himself 
with  all  kinds  of  speculations  as  to  what 
was  the  nature  of  the  teeling  that  Ellen 
entertained  for  Joshua.  Every  expression 
of  gladness  that  fell  from  her  lips  concern- 
ing Joshua  and  Joshua's  career  was  painful 
to  him,  and  it  was  with  a  bitter  heart  that 
he  left  the  house,  with  the  flower  still  in 
his  coat.  He  was  hot  and  feverish  as  he 
closed  the  street-door  behind  him,  and  he 
was  not  sorry  to  find  that  a  heavy  rain  was 
falling.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  bared  his 
head  to  the  rain.  Witliin  the  house  he 
had  been  compelled  to  repress  expression 
of  his  feehngs  ;  it  was  a  relief  to  him  now 
to  feel  that  no  one  was  by,  and  that  he 
could  speak  out  at  last.  And  the  first 
words  he  uttered,  as  he  smoothed  his  wet 
hair  and  put  on  his  hat,  were,  "  Damn 
Joshua  Marvel !  I  would  give  money  to 
drown  him  !  "  As  he  spoke  the  words  aloud, 
he  was  conscious  of  a  slouching  figure  at 
his  side.  Although  it  was  raining,  the 
night  was  not  quite  dark  ;  there  was  enough 
light  for  him  to  notice  that  the  man  who 
had  approached  him  was  in  rags  —  most 
probably  a  beggar.  Muttering  that  he  had 
nothing  to  give,  Solomon  Fewster  walked 
on.  But  the  man  was  not  to  be  so  easily 
shaken  oflf,  and  Mr.  Fewster  being  in  an 
eminently  quarrelsome  mood  turned  upon 
him,  and  repeated  in  no  civil  tone  that  he 
had  nothing  to  give. 

"I  have  not  asked  you  for  any  thing," 
said  the  man,  surlily,  "  though  if  I  had, 
you  might  speak  to  me  more  civilly,  Mr. 
Fewster." 

They  were  passing  a  lamp-post,  and,  at- 
tracted by  the  utterance  of  his  name,  Mr. 
Fewster  stopped  and  said,  — 

"  How  do  you  know  my  name  ?  " 

"I  know  it;  that  is  enough,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mr.  Fewster,  regarding  the 
Lascar  with  curiosity  and  recognizing  him, 
"  I  have  seen  you  before,  my  man." 

"  That  is  not  saying  much  against  me, 
master,"  said  the  Lascar,  rather  sneeringly. 
"  I  have  seen  you  before  ;  so  we're  equal." 

"  And  whenever  I  have  seen  you,  it  has 
been  in  this  street,"  continued  Mr.  Few- 
ster. 

"  And  pretty  well  whenever  I  have  seen 
you,  it  has  been  in  this  street,"  retorted  the 
Lascar ;  "  you  seem  to  be  as  fond  of  it  as 
I  am." 

"  And  generally  of  a  night." 

"  The  same  to  yon,  master ;  and  what 
then  ?  The  street  is  free  to  me  as  it  is  to 
you.  Look  you.  I  know  more  than  you 
are  aware  of.  If  it  comes  to  that,  why  do 
you  go  so  often  to  that  house  ?  "     The  sud- 


den look  of  discomposure  that  flashed  into 
Mr.  Fewster's  face  was  not  lost  upon  the 
Lascar,  who  had  seen  him  walking  by 
Ellen's  side  more  than  once,  and  who  had 
stealthily  followed  them  on  every  occasion. 
"  Look  you,  master.  What  one  man  does 
for  love,  another  man  does  for  hate." 

'  Hate  of  whom  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  The  people  in  that  house  have  re- 
ceived letters  from  Joshua  Marvel  to-day." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  " 

"  What  of  that !  "  cried  the  Lascar,  in 
a  voice  of  suppressed  passion,  and  yet 
with  a  cunning  watchfulness  of  Mr.  Few- 
ster's face,  as  if  he  were  watching  for  a 
cue  to  speak  more  plainly.  "  Well,  noth- 
ing much,  master ;  except  that  I  should 
like  to  know  when  the  cub  is  coming 
home." 

Islx.  Fewster  could  not  help  an  expres- 
sion of  satisfaction  passing  into  his  eyes  as 
he  heard  Joshua  spoken  of  as  a  cub,  and 
the  Lascar  saw  it  and  took  his  cue  from 
it. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  for? 
What  is  Joshua  Marvel  to  you  ?  " 

"  He  Is  this  to  me,"  cried  the  Lascar,  the 
dark  blood  rushing  into  his  face  and  mak- 
ing it  darker ;  "  that  if  I  had  liim  here,  I 
would  stamp  upon  him  with  my  feet,  and 
spoil  his  beauty  for  him  I  He  is  this  to  me, 
that  if  I  could  twist  his  heart-strings  I 
would  do  it,  and  laugh  in  his  face  the 
while  I  See  me  now,  master ;  look  at  me 
well.  I  did  not  ask  you  for  money,  for  I 
know  you,  and  I  know  you  don't  give 
nothing  for  nothing.  But  I  might  have 
asked  you,  and  with  reason,  for  I  want  it. 
Look  at  my  feet "  (Mr.  Fewster  noticed, 
for  the  fii'st  time,  that  the  Lascar's  feet 
were  bare)  ;  "  Look  at  my  clothes  —  rags. 
That  old  thief,  Praiseworthy  Meddler, 
kicked  me  ofl"  his  barge  where  I've  hved 
and  slept  this  many  a  year.  And  every 
blow  he  struck  at  me  went  down  to  Joshua 
Marvel's  account,  and  makes  it  heavier 
against  him.  See  you;  the  Lascar  dog 
never  forgets.  I've  sworn  an  oath,  and  I'll 
keep  it.  I've  put  a  cross  against  him,  and 
he  shall  see  it  when  he  is  dying." 

Solomon  Fewster  looked  at  the  wretch 
before  him,  quivering  with  passion  and 
shivering  with  cold,  and  deliberately 
cracked  his  fingers  one  after  another. 
When  the  operation  was  concluded,  he 
said,  lightly,  as  taking  no  interest  in  what 
the  Lascar  had  said,  — 

"  That  is  your  business,  my  friend ;  not 
mine.  I  will  tell  you  as  far  as  I  know 
about  this  young  gentleman  who  has 
served  you  so  well.  He  is  not  coming 
home  yet  a  while,  I  believe  —  not  before 
the  end  of  the  year,  perhaps.     I  dare  say 


FEWSTEE  GIVES   THE   LASCAR  A  FLOWER. 


77 


you'll  manage  to  see  him  when  he  does 
come  lionie." 

"  Yes,  I'll  manage  to  see  him  then,"  said 
the  Lascar,  Avilh  a  suddon  quietude  of 
manner  and  with  a  furtive  look  at  ]\Ir. 
Fewster's  tace  —  a  look  which  said,  "  You 
are  tryinsc  to  deceive  me,  master ;  let  us 
see  who  is  the  more  cunning  —  you  or  I." 
Then  aloud,  "  Thank  you  for  answering  my 
question.  You  say  it  is  not  your  business, 
tiiis  hate  of  mine  for  Joshua  IMarvel.  Yet 
there  may  be  something  in  common  be- 
tween us,  for  I've  seen  you  walking  with 
the  girl  who  worships  Joshua  Marvel." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  she  worships 
him  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Fewster,  thrown  off 
his  guard,  his  heart  beating  loud  and  fast. 

"  Because  I  am  not  blind.  I  know  that 
as  well  as  I  know  that  you  have  as  much 
cause  to  hate  him  as  I  have.  I  am  like  a 
cat ;  I  watch  and  watch.  Y'^ou  are  too 
young,  my  master,  to  mask  your  face ;  and 
I  have  seen  that  in  it  that  you  wouldn't 
like  to  speak." 

"  Mind  what  you  are  saying,"  said  Mr. 
Fewster,  with  his  knuckles  at  his  teeth ; 
"  you  are  on  dangerous  ground." 

"  \Vhy  should  I  mind  ?  "  questioned  the 
Lascar,  with  a  curious  mixture  of  fierce- 
ness and  humility  in  his  voice.  My 
tongue's  my  own.  I  have  nothing  to  lose  : 
judge  you  if  you  have  any  thing  to  gain. 
Mind  you,  I  stop  at  nothing.  I  am  not 
squeamish.  Y'^ou  are  a  gentleman ;  I  am  a 
vagabond.  I  can  do  what  you  daren't.  I 
can  help  you  to  what  you  want,  perhaps ; 
and  you  can  help  me." 

The  cunning  of  the  Lascar  was  too  deep 
for  Mr.  Fewster.  The  Lascar  saw  as 
clearly  as  if  he  had  been  told  that  Solomon 
Fewster  loved  Ellen  Taylor,  and  he  seized 
instinctively  upon  Ellen's  love  for  Joshua 
as  the  lever  by  which  he  was  to  gain 
power  over  Mr.  Fewster.  In  the  present 
conversation  the  men  were  not  evenly 
matched ;  the  Lascar  had  all  the  advantage 
on  his  side.  Subtle  as  Mr.  Fewster  was, 
his  love  blinded  his  judgment,  and  his  hate 
led  him  to  consider  that  this  man  might  be 
useful  to  him. 

"  I  can  help  you,  you  tell  me,"  he  said. 
««How?" 

"  I  am  cold  to  the  bone,"  said  the  shiver- 
ing wretch.     "  Treat  me  to  some  rum." 

They  walked  until  they  reached  a  pub- 
lic-house ;  then  Mr.  Fewster  gave  the  Las- 
car money. 

"  Go  in  and  drink,  but  don't  get  drunk." 

"  Ain't  you  coming  in,  master  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Fewster,  with  a  look  of 
contempt  at  the  Lascar's  tatters.  "  You 
can  buy  a  bottle  of  rum,  and  bring  it  out 
with  you.  And  mind,  when  you  come  out, 
don't  walk  by  my  side  ;  follow  me." 


Five  minutes  afterwards  they  were  walk- 
ing in  single  file  towards  Mr.  Fewster's 
place  of  business,  wlnsre  he  lived.  When 
tliey  arrived  at  the  door,  Mr.  Fewster  hesi- 
tated. He  wanted  to  talk  to  the  Lascar, 
to  get  out  of  him  all  he  knew  about  Ellen 
and  Joshua  ;  yet,  looking  at  the  Lascar,  he 
hesitated.  The  man  divined  what  was  in 
his  mind,  and  saiel,  — 

"  There  is  a  policeman  coming  along  on 
the  other  side  of  the  way.  Go  to  him  and 
say,  '  Look  at  this  man ;  I  have  occasion 
to  speak  to  him  on  a  matter  of  business ; 
but  he  is  a  disreputable  dog,  and  I  want 
you  to  watch  the  house.  Knock  in  an 
hour,  and  if  I  don't  answer,  or  if  you  hear 
any  noise,  force  open  the  door.'  Say  that 
to  him,  or  something  like  it,  and  give  him 
a  pint  of  beer,  and  you  will  be  all  right." 

"  Come  along,"  said  Mr.  Fewster,  stung 
by  the  Lascar's  quiet  sneer;  "I  am  not 
frightened  of  you." 

"  Y'ou  have  no  need  to  be,  master.  You 
can  use  me  like  a  dog,  if  you  give  me  to 
eat  and  drink." 

"  Like  a  dog !  "  echoed  Mr.  Fewster, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Well,  suppose  I  regard  you 
in  that  light ;  it  may  be  useful." 

]\Ir.  Fewster  struck  a  light  in  the  shop, 
in  which  there  were  at  least  a  score  of 
coSius  —  respectable  cofiins,  solemnly  black 
as  coffins  should  be,  with  respectable  nails 
to  match. 

"  Waiting  for  tenants,"  he  remarked, 
pleasantly,  to  the  Lascar.  "  Tlie  cheap 
ones  —  common  deal  —  are  in  the  work- 
shop at  the  back."  Mr.  Fewster  put  the 
candle  down  upon  a  cofiin,  and  looked 
complacently  upon  his  wares.  "  Hand- 
some, are  they  not  ?  This  one,  now,  with 
lacquered  handles  and  silvered  plate  for 
name,  age,  and  virtues,  what  should  you 
say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Shouldn't  care  much  for  it,"  said  the 
Lascar,  with  evident  repugnance.  "It 
would  be  more  suitable  for  such  as  you, 
master.  A  cheap  one  —  of  common  deal 
—  will  be  good  enough  for  me,  when  mj 
turn  comes." 

"  Quite  good  enough,  I  should  say." 

"  Y'ou  are  not  going  to  stop  here  talking, 
are  you  ?  "  inquired  the  Lascar,  seeing  that 
Mr.Fewster  evinced  no  disposition  to  move. 

"  ^^^ly,  don't  you  like  it,  you  dog  ?  "  re- 
torted Mr  Fewster,  with  a  spice  of  his  na- 
tive humor. 

"  No,  I  don't ;  it  smells  of  worms." 

With  a  pleasant  laugh  'Mr.  Fewster  led 
the  way  into  his  sitting-room,  and  set  Ught 
to  the  fire  and  Ut  a  second  candle. 

"  This  is  better,"  said  the  Lascar,  hud- 
dling before  the  fii-e.  "  Ah,  this  is  good, 
this  warmth ;  it  is  life  I  Have  you  ever 
slept  out  in  the  cold,  master  ?  " 


78 


JOSHUA  MAKVEL. 


"  No,  you  dog,"  answered  Mr.  Fewster. 

He  had  recovered  his  self-possession  and 
much  of  his  usual  equanimity. 

"  I  have ;  in  the  cold  and  wet,  for  two  or 
three  nights  together." 

"  There  was  the  Union,"  suggested  Mr. 
Fewster. 

"  I  have  been  there  often  enough.  Some- 
times I  was  too  late ;  sometimes  there  were 
too  many  of  us;  sometimes  I  didn't  care 
even  for  that  shelter." 

"  ^Vould  you  like  to  sleep. in  my  shop?  I 
think  I  could  trust  you  there." 

"  I  think  you  might.  I  shouldn't  be 
likely  to  steal  a  coffin.  I  shouldn't  care  to 
sleep  there,  master,  and  that's  flat.  If  I 
woke  up  in  the  dark,  I  should  see  dead  men 
lying  in  the  coffins.  I  wouldn't  mind  it  so 
much  if  the  coffins  were  plain  deal  ones ; 
but  black  —  ugh !  " 

Mr.  Fewster  laughed  loud  and  long.  Cof- 
fins were  playtliings  to  him  —  toys  symbol- 
ical of  the  joys  of  life.  He  laughed  mer- 
rily as  he  set  food  on  the  table,  the  Lascar 
watching  him  with  greedy  eyes  the  while. 
"  Fall  to,  you  dog  !  ""said  Mr.  Fewster ;  and 
like  a  dog,  devoid  though  of  a  dog's  gener- 
ous nature,  the  Lascar  fell  to,  and  devoured 
the  bread  and  cheese.  Meanwhile  Mr. 
Fewster  helped  himself  to  a  large  glass  of 
rum.  He  was  one  of  the  soberest  of  under- 
takers, who,  as  a  rule,  are  not  the  soberest 
of  men.  He  drank  but  very  rarely;  but 
when  he  did,  all  the  worst  part  of  his  na- 
ture dispoi'ted  itself,  in  revenge  for  being 
generally  kept  so  much  under  control. 
Now  as  he  drank  his  rum  —  and  he  drank 
it  neat  —  he  became  savage,  vengeful,  des- 
perate. He  had  never  felt  till  now  how 
deeply  he  loved  Ellen  Taylor.  He  had 
loved  her  in  a  light  way  from  the  first,  and 
his  love  had  grown  quietly,  and  had  been 
fed  by  her  avoidance  of  his  attentions. 
Her  behavior  towards  him  had  deepened 
his  love  and  intensified  it.  Yet  all  along, 
notwithstanding  that  he  felt  he  was  not  as 
agreeable  in  her  eyes  as  he  would  wish  to 
be,  he  thought  that  to  have  he  had  only  to 
ask.  "  They,  poor  working  people,"  he 
thought, "  earning  just  enough  to  keep  them, 
living  as  it  were  from  hand  to  mouth,  inust 
feel  flattered  and  honored  by  my  attention 
—  by  the  attention  of  a  man  who  has  a 
prosperous  business  and  an  account  at  the 
bank."  As  for  marriage,  he  had  not  thought 
of  that  till  lately.  But  Ellen  had  so  firmly 
and  so  steadily  repulsed  him  in  any  ad- 
vances he  liad  plucked  up  courage  to  make, 
that  he  had  resolved  to  lower  himself  and 
ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  Having  determined 
to  make  the  sacrifice,  he  considered  that 
the  road  was  clear  to  him.  He  reasoned 
with  himself  thus :  "  She  thought  perhaps 
that  I  did  not  mean  honorably  by  her,  and 


that  is  the  cause  of  her  treating  me  so  cold- 
ly ;  but  when  she  learns  my  real  intentions 
she  cannot  but  feel  flattered,  and  must  ac- 
cept me." 

He  thought  over  these  things  as  he  sat 
before  the  fire  entirely  engrossed  by  love  for 
Ellen  and  hate  for  Joshua.  The  Lascar  had 
helped  himself  to  the  spirits,  and  as  Mr. 
Fewster  sat  studying  the  fire,  he  sat  study- 
ing his  host.  That  it  was  a  study  that  in- 
terested him  and  pleased  him  was  evident 
from  the  satisfied  expression  in  his  face, 
and  from  the  satisfied  manner  in  which  he 
rubbed  his  hands  gently  over  one  another. 

"  Well,  you  dog  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Few- 
ster insolently. 

"  Well,  master  ? "  replied  the  Lascar 
meekly. 

"  Have  you  had  enough,  you  dog  ?  " 

"  Plenty,  thank  you,  master." 

The  Master  took  another  drink  of  rum, 
and  the  Dog  followed  suit.  The  Master 
regarded  the  Dog  with  a  contemptuous  as- 
sumption of  superiority.  The  Dog  regarded 
the  Master  with  becoming  humbleness. 
But  the  Dog  had  the  best  of  it,  although  he 
did  cast  down  his  eyes. 

"  Look  up,  you  dog,"  said  Mr.  Fewster. 

The  Dog  looked  up. 

"  Wliat  would  you  do  to  Joshua  Marvel 
if  you  had  him  here,  with  no  one  by  ?  " 

The  Lascar,  who  had  been  playing  idly 
with  the  knife  with  which  he  had  cut  his 
supper,  raised  it,  and  with  a  fierce  action 
struck  at  the  air.  Then,  springing  to  his 
feet,  lie  threw  aside  his  chair,  and  kneeling 
on  the  ground,  made  motions  with  his  fin- 
o-ers  as  if  he  were  strangling  an  enemy. 

"  H-m  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Fewster,  looking 
at  the  upturned  face,  blazing  with  vindio- 
tiveness,  that  fronted  his.     "  Dangerous." 

"  That's  my  business.  I'll  risk  the  dan- 
o-er  of  it.  See  you  —  shall  I  speak  plairH 
Fy?" 

"  Yes." 

"  This  girl  that  you  love  worships  tha 
man  that  you  and  I  hate  "  — 

"  Say  that  you  hate,  you  dog,"  interrupt- 
ed Ml-.  Fewster.  "  I'll  have  no  partnership. 
I  am  master." 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  master.  The  girl 
that  you  love  worships  the  man  that  I  hate. 
She  is  waiting  for  him  to  come  home  ;  so 
am  I.  I  have  sworn  death  to  him.  When 
he  comes  home,  the  girl  that  you  love  will 
have  no  eyes  for  any  one  but  him.  What 
chance  will  you  have  with  her  then  ?  " 

"  Stop.  You  are  too  fast.  Speak  of 
yourself  and  of  them  without  reference  to 
me.  Don't  iterate  with  your  damnable 
tongue  about  the  girl  that  /  love.  The  girl 
that  I  love,  I'll  have  " — 

"  So  you  shall,  master,  if  I  can  help  yon." 

"  When  I  want  your  help,  I'll  ask  for  ift. 


FEWSTER  GIVES  THE  LASCAR  A  FLOWER 


79 


Now  go  on  with  your  story,  and  heed  my 
caution." 

With  rendy  wit  the  Lascar  fell  into  Mr. 
Fewster's  humor. 

"  This  girl  that  I  speak  of —  as  pretty  a 
picture  of  ilesh  and  blood  as  eyes  ever  saw 
—  is  loved  by  a  gentleman  who  in  a  sort  of 
way  luxs  lowered  himself  to  think  of  her. 
But  the  gentleman  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  have  her,  and  when  a  gentleman  makes 
op  his  mind,  who  shall  stop  him  ?  He  goes 
one  night  to  the  house  where  this  pretty 
girl  lives  —  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  very 
llovver  that  the  gentleman  wore  in  his  but- 
ton-hole wasn't  irttended  for  her  "  — 

"  You  are  a  clever  dog,  you  !  "  said  Mr. 
Fewster,  half  in  anger,  half  in  admira- 
tion. 

"  Thank  you.  master.  With  the  flower 
in  his  button-hole  the  gentleman  goes  to  the 
house  where  his  pretty  girl  lives,  and  there 
he  spends  the  evening,  and  hears  read,  I 
dare  say,  some  letters,  which  she  has  re- 
ceived from  his  rival,  who  is  a  sailor  —  I  only 
speak  from  fancy,  master ;  set  me  right  if 
you  can." 

"  How  can  I  set  you  right  when  I  know 
nothing  about  it,  you  dog,  except  by  saying 
that  I  shouldn't  think  it  likely  she  received 
any  letters  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  master.  My  fancy  was 
wrong,  I've  no  doubt.  The  gentleman, 
then,  is  obliged  to  listen  to  some  letters 
which  have  been  received  from  abroad,  and 
is  obliged  to  listen  to  affectionate  words  ut- 
tered by  the  girl  he  loves  for  his  rival  far 
away  —  mind,  master,  I  don't  know  this,  I 
only  suspect  it  —  and  he  sees,  too,  in  her 
face,  that  when  her  sailor-boy  comes  home, 
she  will  open  her  arms  to  his  rival,  to  his 
enemy,  whom  he  hates,  and  would  like  to 
see  put  out  of  the  way." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  last  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  it  in  his  face  ;  I  have  heard 
it  in  his  voice.  I  happened  to  see  the  gen- 
tleman come  out  of  his  sweetheart's  house 
one  rainy  night,  not  long  ago  ;  and  I  hap- 
pened to  hear  the  gentleman  mutter  that  he 
would  give  money  if  that  sailor-lover  was 
drowned." 

"  If  I  were  the  gentleman,  and  you  told 
me  this  to  my  face,  I  should  say  that  vou 
lied." 

"  Of  course  you  would ;  but  what  should 
you  know  of  it  ?  Still,  master,  confess  that 
the  story  is  a  likely  one  as  far  as  it  has 
gone." 

"  Tliere  is  more  of  it  to  come,  then  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Fewster,  who  had  turned  his 
back  so  that  the  Lascar  should  not  see  his 
face. 

"  There  is  more  of  it  to  come.  But  say, 
first,  it  is  a  likely  story  as  far  as  I  have  told 
it,"  said  the  Lascar  a  little  doggedly. 


"It  is  likely  enough.  I  have  heard 
stories  more  strange." 

"  Where  did  I  leave  off?  Oh  I  about  my 
hearing  this  gentleman  say,  as  he  stood 
bareheaded  in  the  rain,  that  he  wished  his 
rival  were  dead.  Now  that  was  a  Ibrtimate 
hearing  for  me.  Not  that  I  should  take  ad- 
vantage of  what  I  heard  ;  not  tliat  I  should 
go  to  the  pretty  girl's  brother,  and  then  tell 
him  what  I  had  heard  the  gentleman  say 
about  his  sailor-friend ;  not  that  I  should 
go  to  the  pretty  girl  herself  and  say,  '  Be- 
ware of  the  gentleman  ;  he  means  mischief; 
if  he  can  ruin  your  lover  he  will.'  That 
would  be  a  mean  thing  to  do ;  for  it  would 
upset  the  gentleman's  chances  with  the  girl 
that  he  loves.  No  ;  I  should  go  to  the  gen- 
tleman and  say,  '  I  hate  this  absent  lover, 
and  any  thing  that  I  could  do  to  make  him 
suffer,  I  would  do  cheerfully.  You  would 
do  the  same.  But  you  are  a  gentleman, 
and  I  am  a  dog.  You  mustn't  be  seen  in 
the  matter.  What  you  want  done  do 
through  me.  Never  mind  how  mean  it  is, 
how  dirty  it  is  ;  do  it  through  me.  And  all 
the  return  I  want  for  it  is  enough  to  buy  food 
and  shelter,  and  perhaps  a  drop  of  grog  and 
a  bit  of  tobacco.'  That  wouldn't  be  much 
to  ask  in  return  for  what  I  may  be  able  to 
do  for  him." 

"  But  no  gentleman  would  compromise 
himself  by  entering  into  a  bargain  with  a  — 
a"  — 

"A  dog,  master  —  say  a  dog;  it  is  good 
enough  lor  me,"  interposed  the  Lascar  with 
a  careless  laugh. 

"  With  a  dog  like  you.  I  don't  see  how 
the  affair  could  be  arranged  with  a  proper 
understanding  as  to  what  was  expected  to 
be  done." 

"  It  could  be  arranged  easily  enough, 
master.  I  might  ask  the  gentleman,  sup- 
posing he  had  a  flower  in  his  button-hole, 
to  give  me  that  flower,  and  not  say  another 
word.  That  would  be  a  proper  understand- 
ing for  both  of  us." 

Mr.  Fewster  rose,  and  put  aside  the  cur- 
tain of  the  window.  The  rain  was  coming 
down  hard  and  fast,  and  the  wind  was  tear- 
ing furiously  through  the  streets." 

"  A  fine  storm  for  a  ship  to  be  in  near 
rocks,  master,"  said  the  Lascar,  who  had 
risen,  and  was  standing  by  his  side. 

"  It  is  time  for  you  to  be  going,"  said  Mr. 
Fewster,  turning  abruptly  away  from  the 
window. 

"  In  such  a  night  as  this  !  "  exclaimed  the 
Lascar.  "  And  I  with  no  place  to  put  my 
head  in  ?  " 

"  You  are  homeless,  then  ?  "  The  Lascar 
nodded.  "  Well,  I  take  you  into  my  ser- 
vice. It  would  be  hard  if  no  one  could  be 
found  to  do  a  good  turn  for  a  poor  devil  lik« 
you." 


80 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


"  Tliat  it  would,  master,"  said  the  Lascar, 
standing  in  an  attitude  of  expectation ; 
"  and  thank  you.  Could  you  spare  that 
flower  out  of  your  coat  ?  " 

Blinded  by  passion,  inflamed  by  jealousy, 
Mr.  Fewster  detached  the  flower,  and  threw 
it  to  the  Lascar,  whose  eyes  gleamed  with 
satisfaction  as  he  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  You  can  sleep  in  the  out-house,"  said 
Mr.  Fewster ;  "  and  as  every  dog  should 
have  a  kennel,  I  dare  say  you  can  find  a 
coffin  to  lie  in." 

"  No,  thank  you,  master  ;  I  will  lie  on 
the  ground."  He  poured  Avhat  remained  of 
the  rum  into  his  glass,  and  raised  it  to  his 
lips.  "  Here's  luck,  and  my  faithful  service 
to  you.  You  may  depend  upon  me,  for  my 
heart  is  in  my  work." 


CHAPTER  XVL 

CHRISTMAS-EVE    AT    HOME. 

A  HAPPIER  party  was  never  assembled 
within  four  walls  than  is  now  gathered  to- 
gether within  the  fom*  walls  of  Mr.  Mar- 
vel's kitchen.  That  it  is  Christmas-eve  is 
proclaimed  by  the  two  little  hoops  which 
hang  from  the  ceiling,  circled  by  colored 
Chi'istmas  candles  ;  and  that  the  kindly  in- 
fluence of  the  time  has  fallen  in  full  measure 
upon  the  wood-turner's  house  may  be  read  in 
the  faces  of  George  Marvel  and  his  family 
and  guests.  Sarah  Marvel,  whose  2ilace  in 
this  history  is  but  a  small  one,  has  grown  into 
a  comely  young  woman ;  and,  indeed,  the 
four  years  which  have  elapsed  since  Joshua's 
departure  have  changed  all  his  friends  for 
the  better.  Those  of  them  who  were  young 
when  he  left  are  no  longer  boys  and  girls, 
excejat  in  their  hearts,  which  are  as  young 
as  ever,  and  which  are  pulsing  with  love 
for  the  absent  hero.  Not  to  be  absent  for 
long  now;  for  Joshua  is  coming  home.  They 
cannot  tell  the  exact  day  of  his  arrival ;  it 
may  be  a  week  yet,  or  a  month  ;  but  the 
sails  of  his  ship  are  spread  for  dear  home. 
So,  as  they  sit  round  the  fire,  there  is  a 
happy  light  in  their  eyes,  and  they  look  at 
each  other  and  smile,  and  laugh  musical 
little  laughs. 

"It  is  more  than  four  years  ago,"  said 
George  Marvel,  "  that  one  night  as  we  were 
sitting  round  the  fire,  as  it  might  be  now, 
Josh  said  all  of  a  sudden,  "  I  should  like  to 
go  to  sea."  Those  were  the  very  words  he 
said  "  I  should  like  to  go  to  sea."  And 
it  came  so  sudden-like,  that  mother  there 
began  to  cry.  "  So  you  want  to  be  a  sailor, 
Josh  ?  "  I  asked.     "  Yes,"  he  answered ;  "  a 


sailor  first,  and  then  a.  captain."  Do  you 
remember,  mother  ?  And  now  my  boy  is 
coming  home  a  man ;  and  here  we  are  this 
happy  Christmas-eve,  talking  of  him,  and 
thinking  of  him,  and  hoping  to  see  him 
soon  after  the  New  Year.  Said  mother  that 
night,  '  Sup230se  Josh  is  shipwrecked,  what 
would  you  say  then?'  What  would  I  say 
then  ?  \Vliat  did  I  say  then  ?  I  said  that 
Josh  wasn't  going  to  get  shipwrecked,  and 
that  there's  more  danger  on  the  land  than 
on  the  sea.  And  I  was  right,  I  was ;  and 
mother  wasn't." 

Mrs.  Marvel  smiled  contentedly  at  the         ' 
reproof,  and  nodded  in  confirmation  of  her 
husband's  words.  , 

"  And  when  Mr.  Praiseworthy  Meddler  I 
came  to  see  us  for  the  first  time,"  continued  ^ 
Mr.  Marvel,  "  he  said  the  very  same  thing 
that  I  said  about  the  dangers  of  the  sea. 
And  talking  of  Mr.  Meddler,  here  he  is,  I 
do  believe  ;  and  that  makes  our  party  com- 
plete." 

The  last  words  had  been  suggested  by  a 
great  stamping  and  puffing  outside  in  the 
passage  ;  and  presently  the  door  opened, 
and  Praiseworthy  Meddler,  covered  with 
snow,  stood  in  the  entrance. 

"  A  merry  Christmas  to  you  all ! "  he 
said,  peeling  off"  his  glazed  coat.  "  No,  no 
my  lasses,  don't  come  near  me  ;  you'll  spoil 
your  pretty  ribbons." 

But  the  girls  would  not  be  denied,  and 
clustered  round  him,  assisting  him  to  take 
off'  his  coat,  and  to  shake  the  snow  from  his 
cap  and  hair.  A  pleasant  figure  he  was  to 
look  at  as  he  stood  there,  his  honest  face 
beaming  with  health  and  pleasure,  encir- 
cling the  waists  of  Ellen  and  Minnie,  who 
nestled  to  him  as  confidingly  and  lovingly 
as  if  they  were  his  daughters.  A  sprio-  of 
mistletoe  hanging  over  the  door  caught  his 
sight,  and  he  stooped  and  gallantly" kissed 
the  gu'ls,  who  pretended  resistance,  and 
sprang  laughing  from  his  arms.  Then  he 
shook  hands  all  round,  and  taking  the  seat 
that  was  waiting  for  him  near  the  Avarmest 
part  of  the  fire,  remarked  that  the  snow  was 
two  inches  thick  on  the  pavement,  and  that 
it  was  coming  down  heavily  still.  It  re- 
minded him  of  a  great  snow-storm  by  which 
he  was  overtaken  in  a  cruise  in  the  north. 
That,  of  course,  led  to  entreaties  for  a  snow- 
story,  and  the  Old  Sailor,  in  his  homely 
way,  told  them  a  story  of  icebergs  and 
polar-bears,  which  kept  them  entranced  for 
nearly  an  hour,  and  which  was  all  the  more 
delightful  because  it  ended  happily. 

The  story  being  concluded,  they  talked 
noisily  and  merrily  as  to  what  they  should 
do  next  in  honor  of  Christmas.  In  the 
midst  of  the  conversation,  Ellen,  who  was 
sitting  next  to  Dan,  felt  her  hand  tightly 
clasped.     Looking  up,  she  saw  upon  his 


CHRISTMAS-EVE  AT  HOME. 


81 


face  a  listening  expression  of  such  painful 
intensity  tliat  she  asked  him,  in  a  whisper, 
what  he  was  listeuini;;  to.  He  i)ut  his  (inj^er 
to  his  li]is  and  told  her  —  with  a  strange 
abstractedness  in  his  manner — that  he  was 
going  out  of  the  room,  and  that  he  wished 
her  to  come  with  him  without  attracting  at- 
tention. 

"  We  shall  be  back  presently,"  said  Ellen 
to  Mrs.  Marvel,  as  she  assisted  Dan  with 
his  crutches. 

When  they  were  in  the  passage,  she  felt 
that  he  was  trembling,  and  she  anxiously 
asked  if  he  was  unwell. 

"  Not  l)odily,  "  he  answered ;  "  I  want  to 
look  in  the  street." 

They  went  to  the  street-door,  and,  opening 
it  softly,  looked  out.  The  snow  was  falling 
fast,  and  the  unpretentious  houses,  covered 
with  their  white  mantle,  looked  surprisingly 
quaint  and  beautiful.  A  man,  who  passed 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way  as  they 
opened  the  door,  was  the  only  sign  of  life 
beside  themselves  in  the  street.  The  man 
slouched  onwards,  and  dragged  his  feet 
along  the  pavement  in  a  brutish  kind  of 
way,  tearing  a  black  gash  in  the  pure  white 
snow,  out  of  sheer  wantonness  as  it  seemed. 
It  looked  like  a  desecration. 

'•  Ellen,"  said  Dan,  when  the  man  was 
out  of  sight,  "  I  would  not  tell  my  fancies 
to  any  one  but  you.  I  am  not  happy.  All 
last  night  I  was  dreaming  of  Joshua." 

"  That  was  good,  dear,"  said  Ellen. 

"  It  was  not  good,  Ellen.  My  dreams 
were  bad  ones.  They  were  too  confused 
and  indistinct  for  me  to  remember  them 
clearly.  But  the  impression  they  left  upon 
me  was  that  Joshua  was  in  danger  ;  I  can- 
not tell  in  what  way  or  from  whom.  I  did 
not  hear  a  word  of  the  story  Mr.  Med- 
dler just  told  us.  I  was  thinking  of  I  don't 
know  what  —  and  all  of  a  sudden,  Ellen,  I 
fancied  that  I  heard  Joshua's  voice." 

"  That  is  because  he  is  so  near  us." 

"  Near  us  ?  Yes.  He  is  very  near  us  ; 
nearer  than  you  imagine." 

"  How  do  you  know,  dear  ?  " 

"  I  feel  that  he  is  ;  and  strange  to  say, 
Ellen,  the  feeling  does  not  seem  to  bring 
me  pleasure." 

"  O  Dan  !  " 

"  It  is  so,  Ellen  ;  I  cannot  help  it.  That 
Joshua  is  near  us,  I  am  certain.  See  :  is 
there  anybody  in  the  street  ?  " 

Ellen  looked  up  and  down.  No ;  there 
was  no  person  to  be  seen,  and  she  said  so. 

"  How  beautiful  the  night  is,  Dan  !  " 

"  Yes,  like  fairyland,  almost,"  said  Dan. 
"  It  hurts  me  to  see  that  black  track  on  the 
other  side,  where  the  man  was  walking. 
Did  you  notice  how  he  slouched  along  ? 
Look  at  that  shadow  at  the  end  of  the  street. 
Is  it  the  same  man,  I  wonder  ?  " 
0 


The  shadow  lingered  for  a  few  moments, 
as  if  undecided  wliich  road  to  take,  and 
then  disappeared  again. 

"  Dan,  dear,"  whispered  Ellen,  "  you 
said  that  you  would  not  tell  your  fancies  to 
any  one  Ijut  me." 

"  Well,  Ellen  ?  " 

"  May  I  whisper  something,  my  dear  ?  " 
she  asked  very  tenderly. 

"  1  es. 

"  Would  you  not  tell  them  to  Minnie  ?  " 

She  was  supporting  Dan,  and  his  hand 
was  round  her  neck ;  a  nervous  twitching 
of  his  fingers  told  her  that  her  question 
was  a  momentous  one. 

"  Dear  Ellen,"  he  answered  in  an  agitated 
voice,  "  I  do  not  think  I  would  —  at  least 
j  ust  yet  —  because  —  because  "  — 

"  Because  what,  dear  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  not  sure,  Ellen,"  he  said, 
with  a  sob  which  he  strove  in  vain  to  sup- 
press. "  Do  not  say  any  thing  more,  dear. 
My  heart  is  very  sad." 

She  obeyed  him,  and  kissed  him,  and 
then,  with  a  lingering  look  at  the  wondrous 
white  outlines  of  eaves  and  roofs,  and  at 
the  wondrous  white  carpet  with  which  the 
earth  was  clad,  they  closed  the  street-door 
and  re-entered  the  kitchen.  There  they 
were  greeted  with  the  news  that  Basil  Kin- 
dred was  going  to  describe  and  read  a  play 
to  them.  The  play  which  Basil  had  se- 
lected was  Shakspeare's  "  Tempest,"  with 
which  none  of  them  was  acquainted  but 
Minnie  and  Dan.  Minnie  clapped  her 
hands  in  delight. 

"  We  will  all  have  characters,"  she  said. 
"  You,"  to  her  father,  "  shall  be  Prospero. 
You,"  to  the  Old  Sailor,  "  shall  be  Ste- 
phano.  You,"  to  Ellen,  "  shall  be  Miranda ; 
and  I  will  be  Ariel.  What  a  pity  it  is  that 
Mr.  Fewster  is  not  here !  —  he  should  be 
Caliban.  If  Joshua  were  here,  he  should 
be  Ferdinand." 

"  Who  is  Ferdinand  ?  "  asked  Ellen. 
"  Ferdinand  is  a  prince,  and  is  in  love 
with  Miran  —  no ! "  Minnie  exclaimed 
suddenly  and  impetuously,  the  blood  rising 
into  her  face,  "  he  should  not  play  Ferdi- 
nand ;  he  should  not  play  at  all.  Look  at 
me.     I  am  Ariel." 

With  a  swift  motion,  she  unloosed  her 
hair  and  let  it  fall  around  her  shoulders. 
Bewitchingly  graceful  and  bewitchingly 
beautiful,  she  bent  in  obeisance  to  Pros- 
pero, and  said  with  a  happy  inspiration,  — 
"  Do  you  love  me,  master  ?  " 
And  he,  partly  in  accordance  with  her 
pretty  conceit  and  partly  from  fatherly 
afi'ection,  placed  his  hand  upon  her  head 
and  answered,  — 

"  Dearly,  my  delicate  Ariel." 
Then,  motioning  her  to  be  silent,  Basil 
Kindred,  book  in  hand,  commenced  to  tell 


82 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


the  story,  reading  passages  now  and  again 
in  illustration  of  the  beautiful  fancy,  and 
giving  appropriate  vocal  distinctness  to  each 
character ;  so  that  his  hearers  could  under- 
stand without  difficulty  who  it  was  that 
was  supposed  to  be  speaking.  He  was  in 
his  happiest  humor,  and  he  lingered  lovingly 
upon  the  theme.  The  fooling  of  Trinculo, 
the  brutislmess  of  Caliban,  the  tenderness 
of  Miranda,  the  majesty  of  Prospero,  the 
daintiness  of  Ariel,  were  all  faithfully  por- 
trayed ;  and  his  audience  followed  the 
course  of  the  story  with  eager  delight. 
When  he  had  given  utterance  to  that 
grandest  of  poetical  images, 

"  We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep," 

he  paused,  and  a  deep  silence  fell  upon  the 
room,  a  silence  that  was  broken  by  Dan 
exclaiming, — 

"  Hark  1  a  knock  at  the  door  I  " 
Was  it  the  magnetism  of  love  that  caused 
their  hearts  to  flutter  with  joy  —  that 
caused  Mrs.  Marvel  to  rise  tremblingly 
and  say  that  she  would  go  and  open  the 
door  ?  But  her  limbs  failed  her,  and  Min- 
nie, cryin^:,  "  I  will  go  1 "  ran  out  of  the 
room.  They  below,  listening  in  a  state 
of  strangely-anxious  expectancy,  heard 
Minnie  ask  "  Who  is  there  ?  "  and  heard 
her  open  the  door.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment  they  heard  a  cry  of  joy,  followed 
inmediately  by  a  sharp  cry  of  pain.  They 
ran  up  stairs  and  saw  Minnie  kneeling  in 
the  snow,  supporting  on  her  bosom  the 
head  of  a  man  dressed  in  sailor-fashion, 
and  pressing  her  lips  to  his  neck,  from 
which  the  blood  was  flowing.  The  pure 
snow  was  crimson-stained  ;  and  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel, in  an  agony  of  fear  falling  on  her 
knees  by  Minnie's  side,  looked  into  the 
flice  of  the  wounded  man,  and  recognized 
the  features  of  her  sailor-boy  just  returned 
from  sea. 


CHAPTER    XVH. 

THE   DOG   AND    HIS   MASTER. 

Upon  that  same  Christmas-eve  Solomon 
Fewster  sat  in  his  room  a  moody  unhappy 
man.  He  was  alone  ;  but  if  angry  thought 
could  have  found  palpable  shape,  the  room 
would  have  been  thronged  with  ugly  forms. 
He  had  refused  the  invitation  which  Mrs. 
Marvel  had  given  him  to  join  the  Christmas 
.party,  simply  because,  when  she  invited 
-him,  she  happened  to  say  something  in  joyful 


tones  of  Joshua's  expected  return.  The  mere 
mention  of  Joshua's  name  was  sutlicient  to 
inflame  him  ;  and  he  had  at  once  refused 
her  in  a  lofty  manner,  saying  that  he  had 
another  engagement  for  the  eveninij.  The 
Lascar  had  done  his  work  well.  There  is 
no  death  for  jealousy  :  it  sleeps,  but  it  never 
dies.  And  the  Lascar  had  been  careful 
that  even  the  temporary  bliss  of  forget- 
fulness  should  be  denied  to  his  master. 
Less  force  of  cunning  than  he  was  endowed 
with  would  have  served  his  purpose  with 
such  a  man  as  Solomon  Fewster. 

The  good  influence  of  the  time  did  not 
touch  Solomon  Fewster's  heart.  He  was 
completely  engrossed  by  two  sentiments  — 
love  for  Ellen,  hate  for  Joshua.  The  very 
circumstance  that  upon  this  Christmas-eve 
he  had  wilfully  deprived  himself  of  the 
painful  pleasure  of  being  in  Ellen's  com- 
pany he  laid  to  Joshua's  door.  Every 
happy  face  he  saw  that  day  deepened  the 
hate  he  bore  to  Joshua  ;  for  if  it  had  not 
been  for  that  absent  enemy,  he  would  have 
been  as  happy  as  the  best  of  them.  Once 
during  the  evening  he  went  into  the  open 
space  at  the  rear  of  his  house,  and  saw  his 
neighbors'  windows  lighted  up,  and  heard 
sounds  of  merriment  issue  from  the  rooms. 
"  Who  is  it  that  prevents  me  from  being  as 
happy  as  they  are  ?  "  he  muttered.  "  Who 
is  the  cause  of  my  remaining  here  to-night, 
fretting  my  heart  out,  instead  of  sitting 
next  to  the  girl  that  I  love  more  than  my 
life  ?  "  He  unlocked  the  gate  in  the  rear  of 
his  premises,  and  strolled  along  the  narrow 
lane  into  which  it  opened.  The  houses  in 
the  lane  were  mere  hovels,  yet  there  was 
not  one  of  them  that  was  not  brilliantly  light- 
ed, and  the  echoes  of  laughter  and  singing 
floating  from  their  walls  denoted  that  care 
had  been  sent  to  the  right-about  for  that 
evening,  at  least.  The  sounds  were  so  dis- 
I)leasing  to  him  that  he  returned  to  his  room 
and  resting  his  face  in  his  hands,'  raised 
up  the  picture  of  Ellen,  fair  and  bright  and 
beautiful.  He  was  a  calculating,  unfeeling 
man  ;  and  if  it  had  so  happened  that  there 
had  been  no  obstacle  to  the  smooth  course 
of  his  love,  he  might  have  remained  so  to 
the  end  of  his  days,  and  might  never  have  sus- 
pected that  there  were  points  in  his  character 
which  would  not  bear  too  close  a  scrutiny. 
But  the  means  by  which  we  are  brought  to 
a  knowledge  of  ourselves  are  oftentimes  very 
strange.  The  majority  of  us  go  down  to 
our  graves  without  suspecting  that  there 
are  powerful  forces  hidden  within  us,  which, 
had  opportunity  for  display  been  allowed 
them,  would  have  materially  altered  the 
tenor  of  our  lives,  whether  for  good  or  for 
evil.  Solomon  Fewster's  love  for  Ellen 
was  the  most  ennobling  feeling  he  had  ever 
experienced.     His  hatred  for  Joshua,  and 


THE  DOG  AND  HIS  MASTER. 


83 


the  tboujlits  and  desires  prompted  by  that 
hate  were  tlie  most  ^•illanous.  It  is  strange 
that  the  hate  wliicli  (lis;rraced  him,  not  the 
love  which  L'nnobled  him,  should  liave  made 
Lim  conscious  of  his  delects.  It  was  that 
very  hatred  that  brought  to  him  the  knowl- 
edge that  lie  was  not  a  good  man  ;  and 
that  caused  him  to  rellect  that,  if  his  love 
were  returned,  it  would  be  the  means  of 
making  him  better.  His  thoughts  were 
taking  this  direction  now,  and  he  was  still 
sitting  with  his  face  resting  in  his  hands, 
when  he  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  the 
gate  being  violently  dashed  aside.  He  re- 
membered that  he  had  forgotten  to  fosten 
it.  Betbre  he  had  time  to  rise,  the  latch  of 
the  door  was  lifted,  and  the  Lascar  glided 
in  like  a  white  spectre.  With  a  strange 
feverishness  of  manner,  the  Lascar  turned 
the  key  in  the  door,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment stooped  and  listened,  holding  up  a 
warning  finger  as  a  caution  for  Solomon 
Fewster  to  be  silent.  He  remained  in  that 
position  tor  two  or  three  minutes  ;  then  I'ose 
upright,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  What  now  ?  "  demanded  ^Ir.  Fewster 
angrily,  and  yet  with  a  consciousness  that 
the  Lascar  had  sufficient  cause  for  his 
abrupt  entrance.  "  What  thieves'  trick 
have  you  been  up  to  to-night,  you  dog ! 
that  you  run  in  here  as  if  the  police  were  at 
your  heels  ?  " 

"  They  are  not,"  said  the  Lascar,  shak- 
ing the  snow  from  his  clothes,  dog-like ; 
"  and  that's  a  good  thing,  master,  for  you 
and  for  me." 

"  For  me,  you  dog !  You  dare  to  say 
that ! " 

"  I  forgot  to  close  the  gate,"  said  the 
Lascar,  taking  no  notice  of  Mr.  Fewster's 
exclamation.  He  went  out,  and  having 
locked  the  gate,  re-entered ;  and.  seeing  a 
bottle  on  the  table,  said,  "  What's  this  ? 
Rum  ?  He  did  not  wait  to  be  invited,  but 
helped  himself  freely,  and  spread  his  cold 
hands  betbre  the  fire.  "  I  am  numbed  to 
the  bone.  It's  precious  cold  being  out  in 
the  snow  all  day.  I  didn't  hope  to  find  you 
at  home,  master.  I  thought  you  would  be 
enjoying  yourself  like  a  oentleman.  I  ran 
in  here,  finding  the  gate  open,  not  knowing 
where  to  run.  It  is  snowing  flist — that's 
one  comtbrt  —  and  my  footsteps  will  soon 
be  filled  up." 

All  the  while  he  spoke  he  was  busily  oc- 
cupied warming  his  fingers  and  blowing  on 
his  knuckles. 

"  Now,  explain  the  meaning  of  all  this," 
said  Mr.  Fewster. 

"  Give  me  something  to  eat  first,  master. 
I  haven't  tasted  food  since  the  morning." 

Mr.  Fewster  pointed  to  the  cupboard  ; 
and  the  Lascar  took  bread  and  meat,  and 
ate  swiftly  and  ravenously. 


"  My  service  to  you,  master,"  he  said, 
glass  in  hand,  "  and  a  merry  Christmas." 

When  he  had  emptied  the  glass,  he  threw 
a  knife  on  the  table.  It  was  a  clasp-knife, 
and  the  blade  was  open.  There  was  a  tri- 
umphant demonstrativeness  in  the  action 
that  instantly  attracted  Mr.  Fewster's  at- 
tention. He  saw  blood  upon  the  blade  — 
blood  scarcely  dried.  Whose  blood  was  it  ? 
A  mist  floated  before  his  eyes.  It  was 
there  but  a  moment ;  but  in  that  moment  a 
picture  presented  itself  to  him  in  the  midst 
of  a  lurid  cloud  —  a  picture  of  a  handsome 
sailor,  smitten  by  an  assassin's  hand,  falling 
to  the  ground.  Then  the  figures  were  lost 
in  a  glare  of  bri'zht  blood  and  bright  snow ; 
and  they,  in  their  turn,  were  lost  in  black 
shade.  Although  the  vision  lasted  but  a 
moment,  It  produced  the  curious  effect  upon 
him  of  having  been  enveloped  in  darkness 
for  a  long  time ;  and  the  sudden  awakening 
to  consciousness  caused  him  to  shade  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  as  if  the  light  in  the 
room  were  too  strong  for  him.  Awake 
again,  the  Lascar's  familiar  action  and 
bearing  smote  him  with  a  sense  of  danger. 
The  instinct  of  self-preservation  whispered 
to  him  that  his  good  name  might  be  im- 
perilled by  further  association  with  the 
man.  It  was  clear  that  the  Lascar  had 
done  a  desperate  deed  —  a  deed  which,  al- 
though he  shuddered  to  think  of  it,  had 
perhaps  removed  his  enemy  from  the  scene. 
But  if  so,  it  was  murder.  The  merest 
whisper,  the  faintest  breath  of  suspicion, 
would  be  his  ruin,  not  only  with  the  world, 
but  with  Ellen.  He  would  pay  for  services 
—  yes  ;  but  he  would  take  no  risk.  It  be- 
hoved him  to  be  wary. 

"  They've  had  a  merry  party  down 
yonder,"  said  the  Lascar,  with  a  motion  of 
his  head  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Marvel's 
house.  "  I  made  certain  you  were  there, 
master.  I've  been  hanging  about  the  street 
all  night  in  the  cold.  I've  been  on  the 
watch ;  shall  I  tell  you  for  whom  ?" 

"  No ;  I  want  to  know  nothing,"  replied 
Mr.  Fewster,  measuring  his  words  care- 
fully. '•  Understand  me  once  and  for  all. 
Whatever  you  do  you  do  on  your  own  re- 
sponsibility ;  and  I  will  in  no  way  be  asso- 
ciated with  it  or  with  you.  If  you  presume 
to  associate  me  with  any  acts  of  violence 
on  your  part,  I  wash  my  hands  of  you. 
Nay,  more  :  I  will  set  those  upon  you  who 
will  not  let  you  escape  easily." 

"  I  understand  you,  master,"  said  the 
Lascar,  without  the  least  show  of  resent- 
ment. ''  But  go  on  ;  you  have  more  to  say. 
I'll  wait  till  you've  done." 

"  You  dog,  you !  You  break  into  my 
house  as  if  you  had  a  right  here  !  You  tell 
me,  as  if  I  were  interested  in  knowing,  that 
the  poUce  are  at  your  heels,  and  that  you 


84 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


are  afraid  of  your  very  footsteps  being 
tracked  !  You  have  the  presumption  to  say 
that  it  is  a  good  job  for  me  that  it  is  not  so  ! 
You  throw  down  this  knife  before  me  with 
blood  upon  it  1  What  is  it  to  me  whose 
blood  it  is,  or  what  crime  you  have  com- 
mitted ?  What  if  it  were  to  be  discovered 
that  you  had  rendered  yourself  liable  to  the 
law,  and  then  had  been  seen  to  come  here  ? 
If  I  did  my  tluty,  I  should  go  for  a  police- 
man, and  hand  you  into  his  charge,  and  so 
be  rid  of  you." 

The  Lascar  listened  without  the  slightest 
sign  of  discomposure.  He  even  nodded 
approvingly  as  he  said, — 

"  There's  only  you  and  me,  master.  You 
wouldn't  speak  so  if  anj'body  else  was  by. 
Don't  fear ;  I  know  what  you  mean  well 
enough.  There's  no  chance  of  our  misun- 
derstanding each  other,  though  you're  a 
better  actor  than  I  am,  and  that's  a  fact. 
Rest  you  easy.  No  one  saw  me  come  here ; 
and  no  one  shall  see  me  go  out.  As  for  the 
police,  I  know  as  well  as  you  that  it  would 
suit  your  game  as  little  to  set  them  on  me 
as  it  would  suit  my  game  for  them  to  be  set 
on.  But  you're  right  in  threatening  me 
with  them.  It  belongs  to  your  part;  for 
you  are  master.  And  it  belongs  to  my 
part  to  take  what  you  say  kindly ;  for  I  am 
a  dog.  I  am  satisfied  so  long  as  I  get 
enough  to  keep  me;  and  I'm  not  greedy, 
as  you  know." 

Solomon  Fewster  was  extremely  discon- 
certed by  the  Lascar's  coolpess.  It  proved 
to  him  that  he  was  in  the  Lascar's  power, 
and  that  the  Lascar  knew  it.  He  was  dis- 
concerted also  by  the  conviction  that  forced 
itself  upon  him,  that  the  Lascar  measured 
his  indignation  at  its  proper  worth.  But 
he  could  not  belie  his  nature.  It  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  be  straightforward  ;  even 
in  his  villany  he  was  compelled  to  be  cun- 
ning. He  would  take  care  that  he  com- 
mitted himself  as  little  as  possible  by  word 
of  mouth.  He  was  burning  to  hear  what 
the  Lascar  had  to  tell,  but  he  would  not 
ask.  He  drew  his  breath  hard,  and  it  was 
i  with  difficulty  that  he  restrained  his  im- 
patience during  the  long  pause  that  fol- 
lowed ;  for  the  Lascar  was  as  determined 
as  he  not  to  be  the  first  to  break  the  si- 
lence. At  length,  feeling  that  he  was 
being  mastered,  he  turned  wrathfully  upon 
the  Lascar,  and  questioned,  "  Well  ?  " 

"  Well !  "  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"  If  you  have  nothing  more  to  say,  you 
can  go." 

"  I  have  something  more  to  say,  but  I 
am  waiting  for  permission  to  speak." 

There  was  an  assumption  of  insolent  hu- 
mility in  the  Lascar's  tone ;  and  Mr.  Few- 
ster bit  his  lip  as  he  said,  "  Your  tongue's 
your  own ;  I  can't  stop  you." 


"  Tliank  you,  master  ; "  with  a  cringing 
expression  of  satisfaction  for  the  concession. 
"  Since  I  was  employed  in  my  present  ser- 
vice —  I  mean,  since  a  certain  night  when 
a  kind-hearted  gentleman  gave  me  a  flower, 
the  leaves  of  which  I  have  kept  carei'ully  in 
paper,  so  that  I  shouldn't  forget  what  I  had 
to  do  —  I  have  been  more  watchful  than 
ever  in  the  task  I  had  set  myself  to  per- 
Ibrm.  I  have  been  better  able  to  do  that 
than  I  useil  to  be,  because  the  same  kind- 
hearted  gentleman  has  generously  supplied 
me  with  money,  so  that  I  have  had  all  my 
time  at  my  own  disposal.  He  also  sup- 
plied me  with  Information.  The  task  I  had 
to  perform  was  to  revenge  myself  upon 
Joshua  Marvel  for  stepping  between  me 
and  my  afiiiirs,  and  for  doing  me  Injury. ' 
A  little  while  ago  the  gentleman  told  me 
that  Joshua  Marvel  was  expected  home 
soon ;  and  then  I  determined  that  not  a 
night  should  pass  and  find  me  lajcging. 
Not  only  my  hate,  but  my  faithful  duty  to 
my  master,  macle  me  determined  in  this. 
I  set  myself  to  watch  for  the  return  of  the 
sailor  Joshua  ;  and  during  my  watch  I  dis- 
covered a  curious  thing.  I  discovered  that 
the  gentleman  in  whose  service  I  am  ap- 
peared very  often  in  the  street  I  was  watch- 
ing, and  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  linger- 
ing there  late  at  night.  He  never  did 
any  thing  else  but  look  up  at  the  bedroom- 
window  of  a  certain  pretty  gii'l,  whose 
shadow  I  have  often  seen  on  the  blind ; 
and  he  never  went  away  until  the  light  in 
her  room  was  extinguished.  I  was  care- 
ful that  he  should  not  see  me,  for  it  was 
no  business  of  mine ;  and  I  know  when  I 
ought  to  keep  in  the  background.  Besides, 
I  admired  him  for  it ;  for  I  knew  that  he 
loved  this  girl,  and  that  Joshua  Marvel 
stood  in  his  way.  Regularly  every  day  I 
went  to  the  docks  to  see  if  the  Merry 
Andrew — Joshua  Marvel's  ship  —  had  ar- 
rived ;  and  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  the 
ship  came  in  this  very  morning.  When  I 
learned  that,  I  went  back  to  my  watch  in 
the  street  the  gentleman  is  so  mightily 
fond  of.  I  knew  that  Joshua  Marvel 
wouldn't  be  able  to  get  away  from  his 
ship  directly  it  got  Into  port ;  and  I  guessed 
that  it  was  more  likely  than  not  that  he  j 
wouldn't  let  his  people  at  home  know  of  | 

his  unexpected  arrival.  No ;  he  would 
surprise  them.  It  would  be  so  pleasant 
on  Christmas-eve  to  break  In  upon  them 
suddenly,  and  be  petted  and  kissed,  es- 
pecially by  one"  — 

"  The  devil  take  you !  "  cried  Solomon 
Fewster  fiercely,  grasping  the  table  with 
such  force  that  it  trembled  with  the  trem- 
bling of  his  hand.  "  Tell  your  story  with- 
out preaching,  can't  you  ?  " 

"I'll   try,   master.      I   hung   about   the 


THE  DOG   AND    HIS  MASTER. 


85 


street  the  whole  day,  eatin<T  nothing,  and 
drinking  very  little.  I  might  have  been 
fro7A'n,  if  my  purpose  hadn't  kept  me  warm 
I  di<hi't  grumble  because  I  had  to  wait.  I 
wanted  him  to  come  at  night,  and  he  came 
when  I  wanted.  It  isn't  much  more  than 
an  hour  ago  "  —  here  he  dropped  his  voice 
to  a  whisper  —  "  that  I  saw  a  sailor  turn 
the  corner  of  the  street  where  pretty  Ellen 
Taylor  lives.  He  had  an  accordion  under 
his  arm,  and  a  cage  in  his  hand  covered 
with  a  blue  pocket-handkerchief;  and  he 
stoi)ped  two  or  three  times  to  look  at  the 
houses,  and  nodded  to  them  as  if  he  was 
wishing  them  a  meriy  Christmas.  I  fol- 
lowed him,  like  a  cat,  and  opened  my 
knite.  He  was  singing  —  I  couldn't  catch 
the  words — and  to  judge  from  that  and 
from  the  way  he  walked,  I  should  say  he 
was  as  happy  a  man  as  any  in  London. 
He  never  once  looked  behind  him ;  if  he 
had,  I  would  have  struck  him  down.  He 
stopped  before  the  house  where  his  father 
and  mother  lived,  and  stooped  to  the  key- 
hole anil  listened.  I  was  close  upon  him 
—  waiting !  If  he  hadn't  been  so  much 
occupied,  he  might  have  smelt  me  at  his 
back.  But  it  wouldn't  have  saved  him  if 
he  had  seen  me  ;  he  would  only  have  been 
struck  down  the  sooner.  While  he  was 
listening  at  the  keyhole,  he  laughed  quiet- 
ly, enjoying  the  surprise  he  was  going  to 
give  his  people.  When  he  had  his  laugh 
out,  he  knocked  at  the  door.  Presently  I 
heard  a  woman's  voice  inside  the  house 
ask,  "  Who's  there  ?  "  "  It's  Josh,"  said 
my  man.  I  heard  a  cry  of  pleasure ; 
and  as  the  door  was  being  unfastened,  I 
raised  my  knife,  and  stabbed  him  in  the 
back. 

"  And  killed  him  ?  "  cried  Solomon  Few- 
ster  involuntarily. 

"  I  don't  know.  He  fell ;  and  as  I  ran 
off,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  woman  kneel- 
ing by  him  in  the  snow,  and  raising  his 
head  to  her  bosom." 

Solomon  Fewster  groaned.  Without 
another  word  he  opened  the  door  by  which 
the  Lascar  had  entered,  and  walked  into 
the  open  air.  The  snow-fall  had  ceased, 
and  the  stars  were  shining.  The  moon, 
too,  had  risen,  and  clouds  of  light  and 
deep  shade  were  gliding  swiftly  across  it, 
while  everchanging  shadows  were  playing 
on  the  snow.  In  the  distance  he  heard  the 
waits ;  they  were  a  long  way  off,  and  the 
strains  of  music  fidl  upon  his  ears  chastened 
and  mellowed.  He  was  in  danger  ;  he  had 
allied  himself  with  this  man,  who  made  so 
light  of  the  shedding  of  blood  ;  and  he  had 
been  made  a  confederate  in  perhaps  a  mur- 
der. Not  that  he  had  any  compunction  ; 
not  that  he  had  any  pity.  Nothing  would 
have  rejoiced  him  more  than  to  have  heard 


that  Joshua  had  been  killed  in  a  mutiny 
had  been  wrecked,  or  had  lost  his  life  on 
sea  or  on  land  by  any  means,  so  that  he 
was  not  im])licated  in  it.  The  feelings 
that  disturbeii  him  now  were  purely  selfish  ; 
he  had  to  save  himself  from  suspicion,  sup- 
posing any  discovery  were  made.  Perhaps 
it  would  be  best,  after  all,  to  speak  plainly 
to  the  Lascar.  There  were  no  witnesses, 
and  it  did  not  matter  much  what  he  said. 
If  Joshua  were  dead,  the  Lascar  must  be 
got  rid  of  at  any  sacrifice  of  money.  Thus 
resolving,  he  returned  to  the  room.  TTie 
Lascar  was  sitting  patiently  before  the  fire, 
and  did  not  even  raise  his  eyes  as  Mr. 
Fewster  entered.  "  He  did  not  know  what 
I  went  out  tor,"  thought  Mr.  Fewster.  "  I 
might  have  gone  for  a  policeman,  and  if  I 
had  brought  one  in,  he  would  have  declared 
I  was  his  accomplice." 

"  Has    it  left    off    snowing,  master  ? " 
asked  the  Lascar. 
"  Yes." 

"  Then  it  wouldn't  be  quite  safe  for  me 
to  go  away  to-night  —  safe  for  you,  I 
mean." 

"  You  can  stop  here  to-night." 
"  Thank  you,   master.      Have   I   done 
well  ?  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter  whether  I  say  you 
have  done  well  or  ill ;  so,  to  save  argument, 
suppose  I  say  you  have  done  well.  Now, 
attend.  If  what  you  have  done  to-night 
should  turn  out  to  be  "  — 

"  Say  murder,  master,"  said  the  Lascar, 
seeing  that  Mr.  Fewster  hesitated  to  speak 
plainly.     "  I  don't  mind." 

"  If  it  should  turn  out  to  be  that,  have 
you  considered  that  you  are  in  danger  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  thought  of  it,  master,  and 
that's  a  fact.  But  if  I  am  in  danger,  so 
are  you." 

"  That  may  or  may  not  be.  The  only 
danger  I  am  in  is  from  what  you  might 
say ;  and,  supposing  I  had  spoken  to  you 
only  once  in  my  life,  you  would  be  free  to 
say  any  thing  of  me,  or  of  any  one  else,  for 
that  matter.  What  you  might  say  wouldn't 
be  evidence,  you  know." 

"  True,  master ;  but,  at  all  events,  I 
could  ruin  yoiu-  chances  with  pretty  Ellen 
Taylor." 

"  What  satisfaction  would  that  be  to 
you  ?  " 

"Every  satisfaction,"  said  the  Lascar 
with  a  kindling  eye.  "  If  any  one  hurts 
me,  I  hurt  him." 

"  As  you  have  hurt  Joshua  Marvel,  be- 
cause he  hurt  you." 

"  And  because  I  am  in  your  service," 
said  the  Lascar  doggedly.  "  Don't  forget 
that,  please ;  I  don't  intend  to  forget  it. 
If  this  is  to  be  a  fiur  argument,  let  it  be 
fair.     If  it  is  to  be  acting,  let  it  be  acting. 


86 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


What  I  have  done  tonight  is  half  for  me 
aud  half  for  you  :  equal  shares." 

"  I  told  you  once  that  I  would  have  no 
partnerships,"  said  INIr.  Fewster  in  a  steady 
voice,  "  and  I  will  have  none  ;  but  I  don't 
mind  coming  to  a  distinct  understanding. 
If  what  you  have  done  to-night  should  turn 
out  at  its  worst "  — 

"  Or  its  best,"  interrupted  the  Lascar 
'sneeringly. 

"  It  will  not  be  safe  for  you  to  remain  in 
the  country.  To  please  you>  I  will  say  it 
will  not  be  safe  for  you  or  for  me." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  Lascar  thouirht- 
fully.  "  I  think  I  understand  you.  Well, 
in  that  case  there  are  plenty  of  countries  I 
shouldn't  mind  going  to  ;  or  I  might  go 
aboard  ship  again.  How  much  will  you 
give  me  ?  " 

"  A  Iiundred  pounds." 

"  Agreed,  master,  —  if  it  should  turn  out 
at  its  worst,  as  you  say.  But  if  it  does  not, 
I  stay,  mind  you." 

"  That  is  your  affixir." 

"  As  much  yours  as  mine,  master,"  said 
the  Lascar  with  determination. 

"  What  makes  you  harp  upon  that,  you 
dog  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Fewster,  firing  up. 

"  Necessity,"  replied  the  Lascar  coolly. 
He  liked  the  life  of  indolence  he  had  been 
leading,  and  he  did  not  intend  torelinqu  sh 
his  hold  of  Solomon  Fewster.  "  I  have  no 
money,  and  no  means  of  living.  You  have 
acted  fairly  to  me  up  to  now,  and  you 
must  continue  to  do  so.  You  can  afford  it, 
that's  certain.  I  know  what  it  is  you  fear. 
You  fear  that  it  should  be  known  that  I  am 
in  your  service.  Well,  no  one  shall  know 
it  from  me  ;  and  I  will  never  come  here 
again.  You  know  where  I  stay.  What 
you  have  to  give  me,  leave  there  for  me  ; 
and  when  you  want  me,  send  for  me.  I  am 
your  dog,  ready  to  do  your  bidding.  I 
can't  speak  fairer.  There's  no  occasion 
for  any  more  palaver.  I'm  tired  and  sleepy  ; 
I  can  sleep  here,  before  the  fire."  He 
stretched  himself  on  the  ground  by  the 
side  of  the  fire.  "  Silence  gives  consent, 
they  say.  If  you  don't  speak,  I  shall  un- 
derstand that  the  affair  is  settled.  You 
wanted  a  distinct  understanding,  you 
know." 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and  listened  for  the 
answer.  The  answer  came  —  in  silence  ; 
for  Solomon  Fewster  spoke  not  another 
word  that  night.  The  Lascar,  made 
drowsy  by  the  glare  from  the  fire,  courted 
sleep ;  and  it  came  to  him,  as  it  comes  to 
better  men.  And  Solomon  Fewster  sat, 
looking  down  upon  the  form  of  the  man 
who  could  blast  his  good  name  by  a  word, 
and  thought  —  ^Vhat?  Once  during  the 
night  the  Lascar  awoke  with  a  shiver. 
The  fire  had  gone  out ;  but  Solomon  Few- 


ster was  still  sitting  at  the  table  with  a 
haggard  look  upon  his  face,  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  grown  old. 


CHAPTER    XVm. 

THE  RIVALRY  OF  LOVE. 

A  SILENCE  almost  like  the  silence  of  the 
grave  reigned  in  the  house  of  the  Marvels. 
If,  by  some  chance,  a  blind  man  had  found 
his  way  there,  he  might  reasonably  have 
wondered  whether  it  was  tenanted  by 
ghosts  or  human  beings.  The  persons  in 
the  house  walked  about  it  with  such  a 
ghostly  motion  that  scarcely  a  footfall  could 
be  heard.  The  doors  were  opened  and 
shut  as  tenderly  as  if  wounds  were  being 
handled,  and  as  if  rough  treatment  would 
cause  them  to  cry  out  with  pain.  The  very 
voices  were  hushed  and  low,  and  what  was 
said  was  said  in  whispers.  The  blow  by 
which  Joshua  had  been  struck  down  was  a 
severe  one,  and  wounded  many  besides 
himself  Notwithstanding  Minnie's  efforts, 
Joshua  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood,  and 
was  laid  on  a  sick-bed  for  many  weeks. 
For  a  long  time  the  doctor  feared  for  his 
life  ;  but  good  nursing  and  a  strong  consti- 
tution were  in  his  favor. 

"  But  mind  you,  Mrs.  Marvel,"  the  doc- 
tor had  said,  half-a-dozen  times,  "  nothing 
ivould  have  saved  him  —  not  even  his  con- 
stitution, and  it's  a  good  one  ;  not  even  the 
nursing  he  has  had,  and  no  man  ever  had 
better  —  nothing  tvould  have  saved  him  if 
Miss  Kindred  had  not  behaved  like  a  hero- 
ine. You  may  thank  that  young  lady  for 
saving  your  son's  life.  If  she  hatln't  stopped 
the  flow  of  blood  with  her  lips,  all  the  doc- 
tors in  London  couldn't  have  kept  him  in 
the  world  for  twenty-four  hours." 

When  Minnie  was  told  of  this,  she  went 
to  her  room  and  locked  herself  in. 

"  I  have  saved  him  I  "  she  said  to  herself, 
weeping  tears  of  delicious  joy.  "  I  have 
saved  his  life  !  Oh,  what  happiness  !  I 
could  die  now,  I  am  so  happy  !  " 

It  might  have  been  better  for  her  if  she 
had  died  then  with  those  words  upon  her 
lips. 

During  the  time  that  Joshua  was  in  the 
greatest  danger,  Mrs.  Marvel  would  allow 
no  one  but  herself  to  sit  up  with  him  at 
night.  She  had  a  bed  made  up  on  the 
floor,  and  rested  there,  taking,  indeed,  but 
little  sleep,  until  Joshua  was  out  of  danger. 
Minnie,  especially,  had  jileaded  hard  to  be 
allowed  to  sit  up  with  her  ;  but  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel was  firm.     Although  she  would  not  have 


THE   RIVALRY    OF   LOVE. 


87 


confessed  it  even  to  lier.-^elf,  she  was  jealous 
of  the  girl's  solicitude  ;  and  once  exju-essed 
herself  angrily  because  Minnie  had  offered 
to  give  Joshua  his  medicine.  Afterwards, 
seeing  Minnie  in  tears,  Mrs.  Marvel  kissed 
her  and  begged  her  pardon  in  a  gentle, 
motherly  wa)',  which  made  Minnie  cry  the 
more.  Mrs.  Marvel  foinid  Minnie  more 
difficult  to  manage  than  Ellen.  Ellen  was 
wonderfully  undemonstrative  and  wonder- 
fully obedient.  And  besides,  Ellen  was 
never  in  the  way  when  she  was  not  wanted, 
and  was  always  at  hand  the  instant  she 
was  required.  There  was  an  instinctive 
sympathy  between  Mrs.  Marvel  and  Ellen 
which  did  not  exist  between  Mrs.  Marvel 
and  Minnie.  The  good  mother  loved  both 
the  girls,  but  she  loved  Ellen  like  a  daugh- 
ter. In  the  second  week  of  Joshua's  illness 
a  circumstance  occurred  which,  for  a  short 
time,  occasioned  Mrs.  Marvel  much  anxious 
thought.  Joshua  being  more  feverish  than 
usual  —  for  three  weeks  he  was  delirious, 
and  did  not  know  where  he  was,  or  who 
were  tending  him  —  the  girls  hovered  about 
the  room  (in  their  anxiety  to  be  of  some  as- 
sistance) rather  later  than  Mrs.  Marvel 
generally  allowed  them. 

"  Go  to  bed,  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Marvel. 

Ellen  rose  obediently,  and  kissing  Mrs. 
Marvel,  and  asking  to  be  called  if  Mrs. 
Marvel  wanted  assist;>nce  in  the  night, 
went  softly  out  of  the  room.  But  Minnie 
lingered  behind,  and  with  a  yearning,  wist-- 
ful  look  at  Mrs.  Marvel,  begged,  in  the 
softest  of  whispers,  to  be  allowed  to  sit  up 
with  her. 

"  No,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Marvel,  "  I  can't 
think  of  it.  You  would  be  of  no  use  to  me 
to-morrow  if  you  were  to  sit  up  to-night." 

"  Oh,  yes,  1  should  1  "  said  Minnie,  still 
pleading  ;  *'  you  don't  know  what  a  strong 
girl  I  am.  l)o  let  me  stop  with  you  !  Do 
let  me  think  that  I  can  do  something  to 
help  you ! " 

"  You  can  do  a  great  deal  if  you  obey 
me,  Minnie ;  and  you  do  assist  me  very 
much,  my  dear ;  but  I  will  not  let  you  sit 
up  to-night.  Hush  !  "  For  here  Joshua 
said  something  aloud,  and  murmured  fever- 
ishly in  his  sleep.  When  he  was  quiet, 
Mrs.  Marvel  said,  "  Don't  distress  me,  dear 
Minnie ;  go  to  bed,  like  a  good  girl." 

Minnie,  with  deep  sighs,  went  to  the  bed- 
side to  look  at  Joshua  and  to  ijid  him  a  si- 
lent good-night  —  Mrs.  Marvel  regarding 
her  jealously  the  while  —  and  then  crept 
out  of  the  room  in  tears.  The  girls  being 
gone,  Mrs.  Marvel  telt  more  contented. 
She  sat  down  by  her  son's  bedside,  and, 
with  that  lightness  of  touch  which  nothing 
but  a  mother's  pure  love  or  that  of  a  wife 
can  impart,  smoothed  the  bed-coverings, 
and  brushed  the  hair  from  Joshua's  eyes. 


At  about  eleven  o'clock  the  handle  of  the 
door  was  genlly  turned,  and  Mr.  Marvel 
entered,  lie  had  no  boots  on,  and  she  had 
not  ln'ard  him  come  up  from  the  kitchen. 
Clasping  his  wife's  hand,  he  leaned  over  the 
bed  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Joshua's  face. 

"  He  is  better  to-night,  George,"  she 
said  ;  "  he  is  getting  along  nicely.  The 
doctor  said  to-day  that  he  will  soon  be  sen- 
sible." 

George  Marvel  nodded,  and  put  his  lips 
to  his  wife's  cheek. 

''  You  must  be  very  tired,  Maggie." 

She  rejilied  by  a  bright  smile. 

"  Shall  I  sit  up  for  an  hour  while  you  lie 
down  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,"  knowing  it  would  please 
him.     "  Have  you  had  supper  ?  " 

A  nod. 

"  And  your  beer  ?  " 

Another  nod. 

"  And  your  pipe  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  Ellen  got  every  thing  ready  nicely. 
She  is  like  you  were  when  you  were  a  girl, 
Maggie." 

"  Better  than  me,  father." 

"  That's  not  possible,  wife."  Ah  !  how 
her  heart  fluttei-ed  as  he  said  the  word  1 
She  trembled  in  his  arms  like  a  girl.  "  Now 
lie  down  ;  I'll  wake  you  in  an  hour." 

She  had  but  to  close  her  eyes  —  being 
satisfied  that  her  darling  son  was  in  good 
hands  —  and  she  was  asleep.  George  Mar- 
vel watched  for  an  hour,  and  perhaps  a  lit- 
tle longer,  and  then  touched  his  wife,  who 
was  instantly  awake.  Alone  again,  Mrs. 
Marvel  resumed  her  loving  vigil.  Not  a 
sound  was  to  be  heard  except  the  occasional 
prattle  of  Joshua,  now  of  Dan  and  the  birds, 
now  of  '*  father  "  and  "  mother,"  now  of  El- 
len, now  of  Minnie  an<l  her  shell.  Mrs. 
Marvel  had  already  learned,  through  those 
unconscious  confessions,  that  her  son's 
heart  was  as  tender  and  as  good  as  it  had 
been  before  he  had  started  in  life  for  him- 
self A  few  minutes  after  the  church-clock 
had  struck  two,  ]\Irs.  Marvel  fancied  she 
heard  a  soft  breathing  outside  the  bedroom- 
door.  She  listened  intently,  thinking  she 
must  have  been  deceived  ;  but  no  —  the 
soft  breathing,  as  of  some  one  asleep,  came 
distinctly  to  her  ears.  She  went  to  the 
door  and  opened  it,  and,  lying  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  in  the  narrow  passage,  she  dis- 
covered Minnie,  in  her  night-dress,  fost 
asleep.  The  girl  had  evidently  kept  awake 
until  Ellen  and  Sarah  were  asleep,  and  had 
then  stolen  down  stairs,  and  had  sat  outside 
the  door  of  the  sick-room  until  she  had  been 
overpowered  by  fatigue.  Mrs.  Marvel 
stooped  over  the  sleeping  gu-1  and  whis- 
pered, — 

"  Minnie  1  " 

The  sound  of  her  name,  chiming  in  with. 


88 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


some  dreaming  fancy,  brought  a  happy 
smile  to  the  girl's  lips,  and  she  an- 
swered, — 

"  Yes,  Joshua  !  " 

A  look  of  pain  passed  into  Mrs.  Marvel's 
face ;  she  knelt  by  Minnie's  side,  and  gen- 
tly raising  the  girl's  head,  she  whisj^ered 
again,  — 

"  Minnie  !  You'll  catch  your  death  of 
cold  lying  here." 

Minnie,  still  sleeping,  encircled  Mrs. 
Marvel's  neck  with  her  arms,  and  mur- 
mured, as  she  nestled  close  to  the  anxious 
mother's  breast, — 

"  Joshua !  Love  me !  Love  me,  Josh- 
ua! " 

Mrs.  Marvel  trembled  as  she  looked  upon 
the  gii'l's  fair  face,  made  fairer  by  the  hap- 
py smile  playing  about  the  lips,  and  she 
felt  a  sudden  chill  at  her  heart. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Minnie  !  "  she  said  be- 
neath her  breath.  "  Oh,  my  pooi-,  poor 
Iklinnie  ! " 

Then  by  a  strong  efibrt,  she  raised  the 
girl,  and  so  awoke  her. 

Before  Minnie  had  time  to  recover  full 
consciousness,  her  name,  uttered  by  Josh- 
ua in  his  fevered  sleep,  I'ell  upon  her  ears. 
With  a  glad  cry  she  sprang  i'rom  Mrs. 
Marvel's  arms  into  the  sick-room  ;  but 
Mrs.  Marvel  stepped  swiftly  before  her,  and 
taking  her  two  hands  prisoner,  said,  in  a 
voice  which,  although  very  low,  was  stern 
and  decided,  "  I  am  seriously  angry  with 
you,  Minnie." 

The  sudden  movements,  the  light  in  the 
room,  and,  above  all,  Mrs  Marvel's  stern 
voice,  restored  Minnie  to  her  senses.  She 
dropped  her  head,  and  a  hot  blush  of  shame 
stole  over  her  neck  and  face,  while  the 
hands  which  Mrs.  Marvel  held  turned  cold 
as  ice.  All  Mrs.  Marvel's  sternness  was 
gone,  and  jyity  only  remained. 

"Forgive  me,"  Minnie  pleaded. 

"  I  do,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Marvel,  more 
agitated  than  Minnie  was.  "  I  was  obliged 
to  speak  sternly,  or  I  should  not  have 
been  able  to  wake  you.  Go  to  bed  now, 
and  be  more  obedient  for  the  future." 

Minnie  walked  humbly  into  the  passage, 
whither  Mrs.  Marvel  followed  her. 

"  Ah,  not  like  that  !  "  sighed  Minnie,  as 
Mrs.  Marvel  turned  to  enter  the  room. 
"  Not  like  that !  Kiss  me,  and  say  again 
that  you  forgive  me." 

And  Mrs.  Marvel,  distressed  and  pitiful, 
kissed  Minnie,  who  clung  to  her  for  a  few 
moments,  sobbing  quietly,  and  then  crept 
to  bed. 

But  who  had  struck  the  blow?  ^Vho 
was  it  that,  waiting  with  malicious  cunning 
until  Joshua's  foot  was  on  the  threshold  of 
the   home   where   so  many   loving   hearts 


were  eager  to  welcome  him,  had  foully 
struck  him  down  ?  Susan  was  the  only 
one  who  had  any  suspicion  ;  but  she  did 
not  mention  it,  for  she  had  not  seen  the 
Lascar  lor  many  months.  When  Minnie 
was  questioned,  she  declared  that  she  saw 
no  one  in  the  street.  A  neighbor  asked 
why  one  of  the  men  in  the  house  did  not 
look  for  footsteps  in  the  snow  and  follow 
up  the  track.  They  could  not  tell  why 
they  had  not  done  so ;  it  would  have  been 
the  right  thing  to  do,  undoubtedly,  but  it 
had  not  occurred  to  them.  When  Joshua 
was  sufficiently  recovered,  he  could  not 
assist  them.  He  was  examined  and  cross- 
examined  closely.  Did  he  suspect  any  of 
the  sailors  V  No ;  he  was  good  friends 
with  every  person  on  board  ;  was  even  a  fa- 
vorite with  the  captain  and  officers.  Ah  ! 
perhaps  it  sprang  from  that,  they  said ; 
one  of  his  mates  might  have  been  jealous 
of  him.  No ;  he  was  certain  not  one  of 
them  was.  His  own  opinion  was  that  he 
had  been  stabbed  by  a  thief  who  wanted  to 
rob  liiui.  But  there  !  what  was  the  use  of 
bothering  about  it  ?  Here  he  was,  getting 
well  and  strong  again,  when  it  might  have 
been  so  much  worse.  Thank  God,  in  a 
few  weeks  he  would  be  as  well  as  ever ! 
The  day  that  Joshua  was  out  of  danger, 
the  doctor  told  him  that  his  life  had  been 
saved  by  Minnie.      <■ 

"  In  what  way,  sir  ?  "  asked  Joshua. 

"  Don't  you  remember  that,  when  you 
were  struck  "  —  commenced  the  doctor. 
But  Joshua  interrupted  him  by  saying  that 
he  remembered  nothing  from  that  moment. 

"  I  was  walking  along,  too  much  occu- 
pied with  the  happiness  of  coming  home 
to  think  of  any  thing  else.  I  remember 
looking  at  the  houses  in  the  street,  and 
stopping  before  our  house.  I  heard  voices 
inside,  or  I  thought  I  did.  Indeed,  it 
might  havcf  been  fancy.  I  stooped  to  lis- 
ten, and  then  knocked.  Some  one  asked 
—  ah,  now  I  remember!  It  Avas  Minnie's 
voice  asking  who  was  there.  Just  as  I  an- 
swered, a  dizziness  came  over  me  ;  I  did 
not  even  know  that  I  was  struck." 

"  As  you  answered,"  said  the  doctor, 
taking  up  the  narrative  where  Joshua 
dropped  it,  "  Minnie  opened  the  door. 
She  saw  you  falling,  and  saw  blood  flow- 
ing from  your  neck.  She  threw  herself  by 
your  side,  and  put  her  lips  to  the  wound, 
and  pressed  so  as  to  cause  the  blood  to 
flow  less  freely.  I  honestly  believe  that  if 
she  had  not  done  that,  your  life  would  not 
have  been  saved." 

Joshua  did  not  pursue  the  conversation, 
and  the  doctor  did  not  recur  to  the  sub- 
ject again.  The  tbllowing  afternoon  Josh- 
ua said  to  his  mother,  — 

"  Mother,  I  want  to  speak  to  IVIinnie." 


^J 


THE   RIVALRY   OF  LOVE. 


89 


Mrs.  Marvel,  a  little  uneasily,  -went  for 
Minnie,  who  came  and  sat  by  Joshua's 
bed. 

"Are  you  better,  Joshua?"  asked  the 
girl. 

"  Yes,  dear  Minnie,"  answered  Joshua. 

They  spoke  in  whispers.  Joshua  put 
out  his  hij;  hand,  and  JMinnie  clasped  it. 

"  Your  hand  is  quite  cold,  Minnie." 
Minnie,  indeed,  was  very  aL^itated.  "  I 
owe  you  my  life,  dear  Minnie,  and  I  want 
to  thank  you  for  it.  It  almost  seems  to 
me,  alter  what  I  have  been  told,  as  if  my 
life  belonged  to  you.  Thank  you,  dear 
little  i\Iinnie  —  you  used  to  like  me  to  call 
you  that !  —  thank  you  a  thousand  thou- 
sand times.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  repay 
you !  " 

"  I  don't  want  payment.  Joshua,"  said 
Minnie,  when  the  wild  beating  of  her  heart 
was  subdued.  "  It  brought  its  own  pay- 
ment with  it.  It  is,  and  ever  will  be,  my 
sweetest  remembrance.  O  Joshua  !  as  the 
greatest  unhappiness  that  ever  could  occur 
to  me  would  be  "  —  (to  lose  you,  she  was 
about  to  say,  but  she  checked  the  words  in 
time)  —  "  to  know  that  you  would  not  re- 
cover, so  the  greatest  happiness  that  I 
have  ever  experienced  is  to  think  that  I 
have  done  you  some  little  service." 

"  Little  service  !  The  greatest  service, 
the  most  devoted  action  that  woman 
could  do  to  man  !  Perhaps  —  who  knows  V 
—  one  day  I  may  be  ahla  to  repay  you  in 
my  own  way."  As  if  those  words  were 
not  sufficient  for  her,  who  would  have  given 
her  life  for  his.  "  Stoop  down  JMinnie  !  " 
She  inclined  her  head  to  the  pillow.  "  Lit- 
tle Minnie,  little  Minnie  !  "  he  whispered 
tenderly,  and  he  placed  his  lips  to  her 
cheek.     "  Thank  you  for  your  devotion." 

It  was  fortunate  for  IMiunie  that  it  was 
dusk,  and  that  her  back  was  towards  Mrs. 
Marvel,  or  the  good  mother  would  have 
had  further  cause  for  anxiety  and  uneasi- 
ness in  Minnie's  trembling  form  and  flushed 
face.  As  it  was,  there  was  a  long  silence 
in  the  room ;  and  Mrs.  Marvel,  approach- 
ing softly  to  the  bed  to  see  if  Joshua  was 
asleep,  broke  the  happy  reverie  into  which 
Minnie  had  fallen. 

Solomon  Fewster  came  to  the  house 
every  day  to  incjuire  after  Joshua,  and  went 
away  every  day  with  content  in  his  face 
and  despair  in  his  heart.  If  ever  a  man 
played  a  double  pjtrt,  he  played  it  during 
that  time.  "  If  he  would  but  die  1  "  he 
thought  many  and  many  a  time.  "  If  mor- 
tification would  set  in,  or  erysipelas,  or 
something  that  would  kill  him  !  "  And  "  I 
am  truly  happy  to  hear  it,"  he  said,  many 
and  many  a  time,  to  Mrs.  Marvel,  as  in 
answer  to  his  inquiries  she  told  him  that 
Joshua  was  inq^roving  rapidly.     "  I  have 


brought  a  little  jelly  for  him,"  which  Mrs. 
Marvel  received  thankfully.  At  other 
times  he  would  bring  a  chicken  or  some 
other  delicacy  to  tenqit  Joshua's  a[)petite, 
and  would  walk  from  the  house  wiih  ear- 
nest wishes  that  what  he  leil  would  ch(jke 
the  invalid.  "  I  shall  never  forget  IMr, 
Fewster's  kindness,"  said  Mrs.  Marvel. 
'•  I  feel  (juite  angry  with  myself;  for  I  did 
not  giv(^  him  credit  for  so  much  gooil  feel- 
ing. But  it  is  just  in  such  times  as  these 
that  a  man  shows  the  real  goodness  of  his 
heart."  And  IMr.  Fewster  met  with  his 
reward  immediately ;  for  they  were  all 
grateful  to  him  tor  his  attention  to  Joshua. 
Mr.  Marvel  always  had  a  hearty  word  for 
him,  Minnie  always  a  bright  look,  Ellen 
always  a  kind  welcome  now.  But  it  was 
both  sweet  and  bitter  to  him.  "  Ellen 
looks  kindly  upon  me,"  he  thought,  and 
thought  truly,  "  because  I  profess  myself 
kind  to  Joshua.  Will  it  ever  be  other- 
wise V  Yes ;  if  money  can  make  it  so,  it 
shall  be.     And  money  can  do  much." 

Yes,  money  can  do  much  ;  but  it  cannot 
buy  love,  although  it  is  often  paid  for  it. 

The  most  delicious  three  months  of  Josh- 
ua's lifie  dated  from  the  day  on  which  the 
doctor  declared  hira  to  be  out  of  danger. 
He  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  love.  Lov- 
ing hearts,  loving  hands,  loving  looks, 
loving  thoughts,  surrounded  him.  Is  it 
better  to  have  those  than  to  be  great  and 
rich  and  poweriul?  Too  modest  for  ambi- 
tion are  such  blessings.  Yet  are  they  the 
sweetest,  the  holiest  attributes  of  life.  Of 
life,  Avhich  is  nothing  without  pleasui'es 
which  cost  money.  Of  life,  which  is  not 
worth  the  living  without  fine  linen  and 
rich  food.  Of  life,  which  is  useless  Avith- 
out  the  restless  striving,  the  absorbing  am- 
bition, which  make  up  the  sum  of  human 
progress.     Of  Life,  the  Paradox  !    . 

Something  which  has  fallen  out  of  its 
proper  place  may  be  mentioned  here. 
When  Joshua  was  carried  into  the  house 
on  that  memoral)le  Christmas  night,  two 
things  that  had  fallen  from  his  hands  were 
picked  up  from  the  snow  and  carried  in 
after  him.  One  of  these  was  his  accordion, 
the  other  was  a  white  cockatoo  in  a  cage, 
which  Joshua  had  brought  home  from  the 
South  Seas.  Whether  it  was  that  the 
cockatoo  was  overwhelmed  at  finding  itself 
in  a  strange  land,  or  that  it  deemed  it  ne- 
cessary to  be  silent  in  the  distressing  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  it  certainly  behav- 
ed itself  in  a  most  exemplary  manner,  and 
gave  no  indication  that  it  possessed  a 
tongue.  The  cockatoo  was  taken  to  Dan's 
house,  which  was  but  a  very  few  doors 
from  Joshua's,  and  two  or  three  days  after- 
wards Dan  was  startled  Ijy  hearing  his 
name  called  in  a  strange  loud  voice.     He 


90 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


looked  up  at  Ellen,  and  asked  if  she  had 
spoken.  She  had  just  time  to  say  "  No  " 
•when  her  name  was  called  in  the  same 
stranpje  loud  voiee. 

"  Wh}^,  it's  the  cockatoo  ! "  exclaimed 
Dan. 

Sure  enourrh,  it  was  the  cockatoo,  which, 
now  that  its  tongue  was  loosened,  made  as 
much  use  of  it  as  a  woman  could  have 
done.  Its  stock  of  language  was  not  large, 
consisting  only  of  a  shrill  "  Dan  I  "  a  shrill 
"  Dan  and  Jo  !  "  a  shrill  "  Ellen  !  "  a  shrill 
"  Minnie !  "  and  a  softer  articulation  of 
"  Bread-and-cheese  and  kisses  !  and  kiss- 
es !  and  kisses  !  "  winding  up  with  a  volley 
of  kisses,  which  it  continued  until  it  was 
completely  out  of  breath.  No  stronger 
proof  of  Joshua's  attachment  could  have 
been  received  by  Dan  and  Ellen.  Dan 
was  much  aifected  by  it. 

"  You  see  how  he  was  thinking  of  us  all 
the  time  he  was  away,"  he  said  to  Ellen, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  What  shall  I  do 
if  he  dies  !  " 

But  Joshua  did  not  die,  and  it  was  not 
very  long  afterwards  that  Dan  was  sitting 
in  his  friend's  bedroom,  surrounded  by  his 
birds  as  usual.  It  was  like  the  old  time 
come  over  again.  Here  they  were,  man 
and  man,  talking  oiten  as  if  they  were 
boys.  So  much  had  to  be  told  !  The  loss 
of  Dan's  i)arents,  Dan  entering  into  busi- 
ness, and  how  they  all  came  to  be  living 
together.  "  Wonderful,  wonderful !  "  said 
Joshua,  again  and  again.  "Like  a  story 
in  a  book." 

"Just  what  I  said,"  said  Dan;  "like  a 
romance." 

Who  should  come  to  the  house  one  day 
but  theteptain  of  Joshua's  ship,  the  '•  INIer- 
ry  AndlWl,"  ?  The  part  he  plays  in  this 
story  is  a  small  one,  but  eventtul  enough  in 
all  conscience.  He  was  a  shrewd  man  of 
business  and  a  good  officer.  It  was  to  his 
interest  to  liav<^good  men  about  him  ;  for 
he  was  the  principal  owner  of  the  ship,  and 
he  was  remarkabl^  sensible  in  any  matter 
affecting  his  interests.  He  had  heard  of 
what  had  occurred  to  -'Joshua,  and  he  was 
very  sorry  for  it,  because  Bte  had  been  so 
satisfied  with  Joshua's  conduct  on  board 
his  ship,  that  he  had  determined  to  make 
the  young  sailor  his  third  mate  on  the  next 
voyage.  Therein  he  showed  his  eccentri- 
city ;  most  other  captains  would  have  cho- 
sen a  man  who  had  already  filled  that  posi- 
tion satisfactorily.  But  Captain  Liddle 
liked  to  judge  for  himself,  and  Joshua  had 
found  fiivor  in  his  eyes.  The  young  sailor 
was  steady  and  attentive,  and  had  made 
some  progress  in  the  study  of  navigation. 
There  was  one  especial  reason  why  Captain 
Liddle  wanted  steady  men  with  him  on  his 
next  voyage.     He  was  about  to  get  mar- 


ried, and  he  was  going  to  take  his  young 
wife  with  him.  There  was  great  excite- 
ment in  the  house  when  Captain  Liddle 
announced  himself.  Joshua,  who  was  in 
bed,  wanted  to  rise,  but  Captain  Liddle 
would  not  allow  him. 

"  Lie  easy,  lie  easy.  Marvel,"  he  said  : 
"  you'll  get  better  all  the  sooner." 

"  I  hoped  to  come  with  you,  sir,  on  your 
next  voyage,"  said  Joshua. 

"  Well,  I  had  some  thought  of  that  my- 
self," said  Captain  Liddle. 

"  Do  you  go  out  soon,  sir  ?  " 

"  Not  ibr  three  months.  Marvel ;  perhaps 
not  for  four.  The  ship's  undergoing  a 
thorough  overhauling.  She'll  have  a  pre- 
cious freight  in  her  next  trip." 

"  What  loading,  sir  ?  " 

Captain  Liddle's  eyes  twinkled.  "  -Fe- 
male. Lie  easy,  lie  easy.  Marvel  ; "  fdr- 
Joshua  had  given  another  start.  "  Mrs. 
Captain  Liddle.  I  shall  be  married  soon, 
and  my  wife  goes  out  with  me." 

Joshua  murmured  respectful  congratula- 
tions. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you.  Marvel.  Now, 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  have  come  especially 
for.  First,  though,  how  long  before  you  are 
well  ?  " 

"  I  am  well  now,  sir." 

"  Strong,  I  mean  ;  able  to  get  about  and 
do  your  work  like  a  man." 

"  Not  for  two  months,  I  am  afraid, 
sir." 

"  That  will  do.  Now,  then.  You  get 
strong  in  two  months,  and  you  shall  go  oiit 
with  me  in  my  next  trip  as  third  mate  of 
the  '  Merry  Andrew.'  Lie  easy,  lie  easy,- 
Marvel.     What  do  you  say  to  it,  eh  ?  " 

"  Say  to  it,  sir  !   O  "  — 

"  Lie  easy,  lie  easy,  my  lad.  Wlien  you 
(jet  strong  come  to  the  ship,  and  write  a  few 
lines  soon  telling  me  how  strong  you  are 
"•etting.  Mrs.  Marvel,  your  son  is  a  good 
sailor,  and  will  make  a  good  officer.  And 
this  is  Dan,  that  you  told  me  of  once  ?  A 
good  head  ;  but  not  so  strong  in  the  legs  as 
Marvel,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Dan  with  a  bright  smile, 
for  he  was  overjoyed  at  Joshua's  good  for- 
tune ;  "  biit  it  wouldn't  do  for  all  of  us  to  be 
stronii,  sir ;  consider  the  doctors." 

"  Why,  here  is  a  ship,  ropes  and  sails  and 
all  1     And  birds  !  " 

Obedient  to  Dan's  signal,  the  sailor-birds 
flew  up  the  ropes,  and  stood  on  the  slender 
cross-trees,  as  proud  as  if  they  had  passed 
their  lives  in  the  service. 

"  Good  —  good !  "  said  Captain  Liddle. 
"  For  sale,  eh  ?  " 

"  No ;  they  are  not  mine  sir  ;  they  belong 
to  an  old  sailor." 

"  Very  proj^er.  Ali,  young  lady,"  to 
Minnie,  who  had  been  in  the  room,  but  ia 


THE  EIVALRY   OF  LOVE. 


91 


the  backj:^roun(l,  durincc  the  captain's  visit ; 
"  and  what  do  you  think  ot'the  sea?  " 

"If  J  had  been  a  man,  sir,"  said  Minnie 
modestly  and  quietly,  "  I  should  like  to 
have  been  a  sailor." 

'•Very  proper  —  very  proper.  Good- 
day,  Marvel.  Get  strong  as  quickly  as 
you  can.  You'll  have  to  superintend 
cariio." 

Mr.  JNIarvel,  comin';;  home  at  ni2;ht,  was 
told  the  good  news  before  he  had  time  to 
take  the  comlbrter  from  his  neck.  He  ran 
up  stairs  at  once  to  his  son's  room.  "  A 
sailor  first,  and  then  a  captain,"  he  exclaim- 
ed, recalliug  Joshua's  words  when  he  first 
announced  his  wish.  "  Do  you  remember, 
Josh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,  yes,"  said  Joshua  eagerly. 

"  It's  better  than  being  a  wood-turner. 
Josh,"  said  George  Marvel  triumphantly. 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed.     You'll  see  !  " 

"  There,  Maggie  !  "  observed  Mr.  Marvel 
to  his  wife  later  on  in  the  evening.  "  What 
did  I  tell  you  ?  And  you  was  against  it  all 
the  while,  and  wanted  him  to  be  a  wood- 
turner. He'll  be  a  captain  before  he's 
thirty." 

"  Ho  is  spared,  I  hope,  for  great  things." 
said  ]\L's.  Marvel  meekly  ;  "  and  to  be  a 
blessing  to  us  all." 

That  same  night,  Dan  and  Joshua  and 
Ellen  spent  some  very  happy  hours  together. 
Minnie  was  with  Susan  attending  her 
fixther,  so  that  the  three  were  undisturbed. 
Mrs.  Marvel  opened  the  door  once ;  but 
seeing  the  group,  and  observing  how  en- 
grossed they  were,  she  shut  it  softly,  and 
went  down  again  into  the  kif  chen.  Once, 
also,  George  Marvel  was  going  out  of  the 
kitchen,  when  his  wife  called  to  to  him, — 

"  Where  are  you  going,  father  ?  " 

"  To  Joshua's  room." 

"  Don't  go,  George.  Come  and  sit  down  ; 
I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Mr.  Marvel  resumed  his  seat,  and  Mrs. 
^larvel  refilled  his  pipe  and  handed  it  to 
him,  with  a  light,  "  There  !  smoke  your 
pipe,  and  don't  be  so  restless." 

He  took  a  few  whiffs,  and  asked  who  was 
with  Joshua. 

"  Ellen  and  Dan ;  and  they  aie  very 
happy  and  comfortable.  I  peeped  in  once, 
and  I  wouldn't  disturb  them." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Mr.  Marvel  reflectively  dwell- 
ing lengthily  upon  that  smallest  of  words. 

"  I  have  reasons,  George,"  said  Mrs. 
Marvel  quietly.  "  I  never  saw  Ellen  look 
so  happy  and  pretty  as  she  looks  to- 
night." 

Mr.  Marvel  nodded  two  or  three  times 
with  an  expression  of  satisfaction.  "  Do 
you  think,  mother,"  he  commenced  ;  and 
then  he  paused,  and  repeated,  "  Do  you 
think,  mother,  that " —  and  then  he  paused 


again,  as  if  he  had  said  enough  to  make  hia 
meaning  clear. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  George,"  said  I\Irs.  Marvel. 
"  I  had  my  doubts,  but  now  I  really  think  it 
will  be  so." 

"  That  will  be  a  real  good  thing  ;  "  rub- 
bing his  hands.  "  Here's  hoping  so  1  "  and 
he  drank  a  full  glass  of  beer  to  his  mysteri- 
ous toast. 

What  was  going  on  up  stairs  that  the 
wood-turner  and  his  wife  were  loath  to  in- 
terrupt ?  Merely  a  recalling  of  old  reminis- 
cences and  a  closer  drawing  together  of 
three  hearts,  which  might  have  been  one, 
tor  the  undivided  affection  for  each  other 
with  which  they  were  filled. 

"  Thinking  of  then,  when  every  thing  be- 
fore us  was  so  uncertain,  and  of  now,  when 
everything  before  us  is  so  bright  and  clear," 
said  Joshua,  "  makes  me  almost  believo 
that  our  ways  are  shaped  for  us,  and  that, 
if  we  strive  to  do  our  duty,  our  reward  is 
certain." 

"  It  is  too  deep  a  question  for  us,  Jo," 
said  Dcm  ;  "  so  many  considerations  spring 
out  of  it.  As  to  whether  every  good  man 
is  happy.  .  As  to  whether  every  man  who 
strives  to  do  right  is  spared  pain  and  misery. 
At  all  events,  it  is  certain  that  the  very  best 
thiuij  to  do  is  to  do  what  is  right,  and  to  be 
straightforward  and  honest.  It  is  not  too 
often  done,  I  am  afraid.  I  haven't  seen 
any  thing  of  the  world,  but  it  strikes  me 
that  that  is  not  the  way  of  it." 

"  If  ever  I  am  captain  of  a  ship  —  and  I 
may  be,  Dan  —  it  looks  promising  "  — 

"  That  it  does,  Jo." 

"  You  shall  come  with  me  a  voyage.  I 
will  have  every  thing  snug  for  you ;  ham- 
mock on  deck  the  same  as  that  day  Ave 
spent  with  the  Old  Sailor  —  ah,  what  a 
day  was  that !  " 

'■  I  can  recall  every  moment  of  it ;  from 
the  night  before,  when  Ellen  stood  at  the 
window  watcliing  the  rain,  and  my  waking 
up  in  the  morning  waiting  for  you  to  come 
—  oh,  so  anxiously  !  And  the  flowers,  and 
the  birds  —  the  poor  birds  !  —  and  the 
In-oakfast,  and  the  ridel  I  tell  you  what, 
Jo,  stories  could  be  made  out  of  these 
things.  But  the  day  wouldn't  have  been 
the  day  it  was  if  Ellen  had  not  been  with 
us." 

Ellen  smiled,  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Every  thing  c-onnecteil  with  it  is  so 
vivid  to  my  mind  just  now,"  said  Joshua, 
'■  that  it  only  wants  one  thhig  to  make  it 
complete ;  and  that  is  for  Ellen  to  sing 
'  Bread-and-Checse  and  Kisses,'  as  she 
sang  it  in  the  Old  Sailor's  cabin." 

Ellen,  in  a  low  voice,  sang  the  song;  and 
they  were  silent  for  a  long  while,  nii:sing 
happily.  Then  Joshua  made  a  remark  that 
his  pillow  was   not  nicely   arranged,  and 


92 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


Ellen  smoothed  it  for  him.  Her  arm  ne- 
cessarily was  round  his  neck  for  a  moment 
—  only  for  a  moment  by  her  own  will ;  for 
when  she  would  have  withdrawn  it,  Joshua 
held  it  there,  and  she,  with  impulse  as  pure 
as  pure  heart  and  mind  could  make  it, 
allowed  it  to  remain.  What  wonder  that 
a  silence  of  longer  duration  followed  ? 

Ah !  if  a  magic  spell  had  fallen  upon 
them  then,  a  spell  that  would  have  trans- 
fixed them  and  made  their  ha^Dpiness  eter- 
nal I 

Not  one  of  them  knew  how  long  that 
blissful  trance  lasted.  It  was  broken  by  the 
slightest  sound  —  it  might  have  been  the 
opening  of  a  door,  or  even  the  light  tread 
of  our  old  friend  the  tortoise-shell  cat  —  but 
whatever  the  sound  was,  the  trance  was  at 
an  end,  and  they  were  all  awake  again. 
Ellen  withdrew  her  arm,  and,  with  down- 
cast eyes,  hurriedly  left  the  room.  Joshua 
turned  to  Dan,  and  holding  out  his  hand, 
said,  "  Dan,  take  my  hand,  and  say,  Brother 
Jo." 

"  I  do.     Brother  Jo  ! " 
"  That's  good  ;  isn't  it,  Dan  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Jo/' 

"  Brothers  more  than  in  heart,  Dan,  as 
we  have  always  been.  But  Brothers  really 
and  truly,  if  Ellen  says  yes." 

"  Ellen  loves  you,  Jo.  You  have  but  to 
ask."  He  paused  for  a  little  while  before 
he  spoke  again.  "  There  is  something  in 
my  mind  thut  it  is  right  you  should  know. 
It  is  the  only  thing  I  have  ever  kept  from 
you ;  but  now,  since  you  have  told  me 
about  yourself  and  Ellen  " — 
"  Did  you  ever  doubt  it,  Dan  ?  " 
"  I  wasn't  certain,  Jo.  You  have  re- 
moved a  great  weight  from  my  heart.  It 
seems  strange  that  now,  when  I  see  the 
almost  certain  prospect  of  your  future  being 
as  bright  as  we  used  to  hope  it  would  be  — 
it  seems  strange  that  I  cannot  say  I  am 
happy.  Yet  one  thing  would  make  me  so 
perf(2ctly." 

"  There  is  no  cloud  between  you  and  me, 
Dan  ?  " 

"  None  —  nor  ever  will  be,  brother  of  my 
heart.  But  a  great  hope,  shadowed  by  a 
great  fear,  has  entered  into  my  soul  —  a  hope 
which  fulfilled,  would  make  earth  heaven 
for  me.  Is  it  too  precious  a  thing  to  pray 
for  ?  It  seems  so  to  me.  I  tremble  as  I  think 
of  it.  But  if  it  is  not  to  be,  I  hope  I  shall 
soon  die." 

"  Dan  1  "  cried  Joshua  in  alarm,  for  Dan's 
last  words  were  like  a  cry  of  agony. 

"  Haven't  you  seen  it,  Jo  ?  Haven't  you 
suspected  it  ?  I  love  her  so  that,  if  I  knew 
she  were  lost  to  me,  I  scarcely  think  I  could 
live.  I  love  her  so  that,  if  she  were  lost  to 
me,  some  stronger  motive,  some  stronger 
feeling  than  any  I  can  now  think  of^  would 


have  to  animate  me  to  make  my  future  less 
black  than  the  blackest  night." 

"  You  mean  Minnie,  Dan  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  is  my  hght.  Ah,  Jo  !  How  I 
love  her!  I  have  never  spoken  of  it  till 
now ;  I  have  never  dared  to  breathe  it. 
And  now  that  I  speak  of  it  for  the  first 
time,  it  frightens  me." 

"  Nay,  ban,  take  courage.  You  are 
frightened  by  shadows." 

"  If  I  could  think  so  !  "  mused  Dan  in  a 
less  agitated  voice.  "  What  can  I,  a  cripple, 
ofier  her  ?  Love  ?  Yes,  I  can  offer  her 
that,  pure  and  undefiled.  Nothing  more 
—  nothing  more  I     Keep  my  secret,  Jo." 

"  Yes,  Dan,"  said  Joshua  sadly. 

"  If  all  should  come  right  in  the  end,  Jo  ! 
You  and  Ellen,  and  me  and  Minnie  !  " 

He  trembled,  and  burying  his  face  in  his 
hands,  thought  of  the  happy  night  when- 
the  Old  Sailor  traced  Joshua's  course  on 
the  map,  and  when  Minnie's  arm  was  round 
his  neck  and  her  cheek  had  touched  his. 
How  many  times  had  he  thought  of  those 
few  blissful  moments,  and  what  balm  and 
comfort  had  the  memory  brought  him  ! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SUNSHINE    AND    CLOUD. 

"  George,"  said  Mrs.  Marvel  to  her 
husband  one  night,  when  they  were  alone 
in  their  room,  "  what  has  come  over  Mr. 
Ivindred  ?     He  is  quite  changed." 

"I've  noticed  it  too,  mother,"  said  Mr. 
Marvel,  "  but  I  haven't  thought  of  it  much, 
because,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  is  quite  right  here" —  touching  his 
forehead. 

Mrs.  Marvel  had  not  mentioned  to  any 
one  —  not  even  to  her  husband  —  how 
Minnie  had  distressed  her  during  Joshua's 
illness.  The  girl  had  not  asked  her  to  keep 
silence  upon  the  subject ;  indeed,  no  word 
had  passed  between  them  about  it ;  but 
Mrs.  Marvel  judged  that  it  would  be  best 
for  INIinnie's  sake,  and  for  Joshua's  also,  to 
let  the  matter  rest.  Since  the  night  when 
Mrs.  Marvel  had  discovered  Minnie  lying 
asleep  at  Joshua's  door,  the  girl  had  given 
her  no  further  cause  for  displeasure.  Mrs. 
Marvel's  fears  were  dispelled ;  for  Minnie 
showed  nothing  more  than  a  friendly  in- 
terest in  Joshua's  recovery.  But  if  the 
good  mother  had  been  less  openly  observant 
of  Minnie's  every  look  and  action,  her  fears 
would  have  grown  stronger.  For  after  the 
interview  between  Joshua  and  Minnie, 
when  Joshua  had  thanked  her  and  kissed 


SUNSHINE 

her,  Mrs.  Marvel  set  herself  the  task  of 
closely  observing;  ^Minnie's  conduct  towards 
Joshua.  And  ^linnie  discovered  it,  and  so 
behaved  herself  that  Mrs.  Marvel  was 
thrown  completely  ofl"  her  guard.  Minnie 
displayed  a  carelessness  and  an  indifference 
concerning  Joshua's  health,  at  which  Mrs. 
Marvel  at  any  other  time  would  have  been 
hurt ;  but  now  she  was  silently  prateful,  in 
the  belief  that  her  fears  were  groundless. 

Joshua  was  better.  With  the  exception 
of  a  scar  upon  his  neck,  where  the  Lascar 
had  stabbed  him,  he  was  as  well  and  strong; 
as  ever  he  had  been.  He  had  grown  into 
a  fine  handsome  man  ;  and  the  affectionate 
disposition  which  had  characterized  him  as 
a  boy  seemed  to  have  become  stronger  with 
bis  strength.  The  affection  that  existed 
between  liim  and  Dan  was  unchanged  and 
unchangeable.  He  took  as  much  delight  in 
the  birds  as  ever  he  had  done ;  and,  not- 
withstanding that  he  and  Dan  were  men 
now,  with  deepened  passions  and  stronger 
aspirations,  thou*  hearts  were  as  tender  to 
each  other  as  in  the  younger  days  of  their 
friendship,  when  they  mingled  their  tears 
together  over  the  death  of  Golden  Cloud. 

Every  thing  was  bright  before  them. 
Dan  had  not  spoken  to  Minnie  of  his  love 
for  her ;  but  he  was  made  happy  by  a  grad- 
ual change  in  her  behavior  towards  him. 
She  grew  more  and  more  affectionate, 
spoke  softly  to  him,  looked  kindly  at  him. 
and  did  not  repulse  the  little  tender  advan- 
ces he  dared  to  make  to  her  now  and  then. 

"  When  you  are  gone  to  sea,  Jo,"'  he  said 
to  Joshua  in  the  course  of  a  conversation 
in  which,  in  the  fulness  of  his  joy  at  Min- 
nie's kindness,  he  had  unbosomed  himself 
to  his  friend,  "  I  shall  speak  to  her,  and  tell 
her  I  love  her."  He  spoke  very  slowly, 
and  his  eyes  were  toward  the  gi'ound ;  it 
was  so  sacred  a  subject  with  him,  that  his 
voice  trembled  when  he  spoke  of  it.  "  Once 
on  a  time,  before  I  knew  her,  Jo.  you,  and 
you  alone,  filled  my  heart ;  but  I  had  no 
idea  then  of  a  man's  passions  and  a  man's 
fears.  I  think  I  should  have  disbelieved 
any  person  then  who  told  me  that  you 
would  have  a  rival  in  my  heart.  But  you 
have,  Jo ;  although  you  are  not  less  loved 
for  all  that." 

"  I  understand  you,  Dan,  and  am  content. 
I  am  proud  of  your  love.  If  I  were  to  lose 
it,  the  sweetness  would  go  out  of  life." 

"  So  it  would  be  with  me,  Jo  ;  but  you 
can  never  lose  it — never,  never.  I  think 
you  and  I  know  what  love  is.  In  the  midst 
of  all  our  trouble  when  you  first  went 
away  —  trouble  that  came  upon  us  so  sud- 
denly that  I  began  to  be  frightened  of  it  — 
I  found  consolation  in  thinking  of  our  love 
for  each  other.  IMisfortunes  came.  Never 
mind,  I  thought ;  Joshua  loves  me.    Moth- 


AND   CLOUD.  ,  .  -  93 

er  died,  father  dieof ;  "Wcf V«|-eleft  peranncss  ; 
and  I  thought  of  \'yu^  anil  was  couii'ortcd. 
You  had  grown  so  ^^JlsiJ^  If^f^^"-  'i'^e  the 
roots  of  a  tree,  Jo  — ^^^^*ItT](a.cl  cea.^cd 
to  love  you,  my  heart  wouI^fetBe^jeaswd  to 
beat.  It  is  the  same  now  ;  but  Minnie  is  in 
my  heart  side  by  side  with  you.  I  shall 
tell  her,  you  know,  by  and  by.  By  and 
by,"  he  repeated  softly.  "  The  thought  of 
it  is  like  heaven  to  me  ;  for  I  have  begun 
to  hope." 

It  was  on  that  same  afternoon  that  Ellen 
was  sitting  in  her  bedroom  looking  at  her 
lace  in  the  looking-glass.  She  was  fair; 
and  she  knew  it,  and  was  proud  of  it.  But 
it  was  not  vanity  that  caused  her  to  sit, 
with  her  chin  upon  her  hands,  looking  into 
the  glass.  Of  a  very  modest  type  of  wo- 
manhood was  Ellen ;  not  a  heroine  of  the 
Joan-of-Arc  order,  who,  with  all  her  false 
glitter  about  her,  would  have  been  a  woman 
after  very  few  men's  hearts.  Ellen  was  of 
the  quiet  order  of  women,  of  whom  there 
are  thousands  growing  up  in  happy  English 
homes,  thank  Heaven  !  and  who  are  blessed 
and  contented  and  happy,  notwithstanding 
their  sisters'  unwomanly  cries  about  woman's 
rights.  May  English  women  like  Ellen, 
modest  and  constant  and  loving,  increase 
and  multiply  with  every  succeeding  year ! 
Ellen  was  thinking  of  herself  a  little,  as 
she  looked  into  the  glass,  and  of  Joshua  a 
great  deal.  He  had  not  spoken  to  her  yet ; 
but  he  would  soon,  she  knew.  And  as  she 
sat  and  saw  her  pretty  face  looking  at  her, 
whose  step  but  Joshua's  should  she  hear 
coming  up  the  stairs  V  He  went  into  the 
adjoining  room  —  Dan's  room;  and  she 
heard  him  moving  about,  and  —  yes  ;  sing- 
ing !  Singing  what  ?  Why,  "  Bread-and- 
Cheese  and  Ivisses."  The  heroine's  name 
in  the  song  is  Kate  ;  but  Joshua  sang,  — 

"  I  said  to  Xell,  my  darling  wife, 
In  whom  my  whole  life's  bliss  is, 
'  What  have  you  got  for  dinner,  Nell  ?' 
'  ^V^ly.  bread-aud-cheese  and  kisses  1  '  " 

He  said  to  Nell,  his  darling  wife !  The 
happy  tears  ran  down  Ellen's  face ;  but 
they  were  soon  dried ;  and  Ellen  kept  very 
quiet,  fearing  that  Joshua  might  hear  her 
move.  But  Joshua  Avent  down  stairs  sing- 
ing; and  then  Ellen  smiled  at  herself  in 
the  glass,  and  peeped  at  herself  through 
her  fingers ;  and  it  wasn't  an  ugly  picture 
to  look  at,  if  any  one  had  been  there  to 
see. 

It  was  all  settled  without  a  word  passing 
between  them.  I  don't  believe  there  ever 
was  such  another  courtship.  They  were 
sitting  in  Mrs.  Marvel's  kitchen  :  only  four 
of  them  —  father,  mother,  Ellen,  and  Josh- 
ua. It  really  looked  like  a  conspiracy  that 
no  other  person  came  into  the  kitchen  that 


94 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


night;  but  there  they  were,  conspiracy  or 
no"  conspiracy.  There  was  Mrs.  Marvel, 
knitting  a  pair  of  stockings  for  Joshua ;  not 
getting  along  very  fast  witli  them,  it  must 
be  confessed':  for  her  spectacles  required  a 
great  deal  of  rubbing.  And  there  was  Mr. 
Marvel,  smoking  his  pipe,  throwing  many  a 
furtive  look  in  the  dh-ection  of  Joshua  and 
Ellen,  who  were  sitting  next  to  each  other, 
happy  and  silent.  There  is  no  record  of 
how  long  they  sat  thus  without  speaking ; 
but  suddenly,  although  not  abruptly,  Joshua 
put  his  arm  round  Ellen's  waist,  and  drew 
her  closer  to  him.  It  was  only  a  look  that 
passed  between  them;  and  then  Joshua 
kissed  Ellen's  lips,  and  she  laid  her  head 
upon  his  breast. 

"  Mother  !  father  !  look  here  !  " 
Mrs.  Marvel  rose,  all  of  a  tremble,  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  Ellen's  head,  and  kissed 
the  young  lovers.  But  Mr.  Marvel  behaved 
quite  differently.  He  cast  one  quick  satis- 
fied look  at  the  two  youngsters ;  and  then 
turned  from  them,  and  continued  smoking 
as  if  nothing  unusual  had  occurred. 

"  Well,     father  ?  "     exclaimed     Joshua, 
rather  surprised  at  his  father's  silence. 
"  Well,  Josh !  "  replied  Mr.  Marvel. 
"  Do  you  see  tliis  ?  "   asked  Joshua,  with 
his  arm  round  Ellen's  waist. 

Ellen,  blushing  rosy  red,  looked  shyly  at 
Mr.  Marvel ;  but  he  looked  stolidly  at  her 
in  return. 

"  Yes  ;  I  see  it,  Josh,"  said  Mr.  Marvel, 
without  any  show  of  emotion. 
"  And  what  do  you  say  to  it  ?  " 
"  What  do  I  say  to  it.  Josh  ?  "  repUed  IMr. 
Marvel  with  dignity.  "  Well,  I  believe  I'm 
your  father  ;  and,  as  such,  I  think  you  should 
ask  me  if  I  was  agreeable.  I  thought  it 
proper  to  ask  vvj  father.  Josh.  It  isn't  be- 
cause I'm  a  wood-turner  "  — 

"  No,  no,  father,"  interrupted  Joshua ;  "  I 
made  a  mistake.    Ellen  and  I  thought  "  — 

"  Ellen  and  you  thought,"  repeated  Mr. 
Marvel. 

"  That  if  you  were  agreeable  "  —  contin- 
ued Joshua. 

"  That  if  I  was  agreeable,"  repeated  Mr. 
Marvel. 

"  And  if  you  would  please  to  give  your 
consent "  —  said  Joshua,  purposely  prolong- 
ing his  preamble. 

"  And  if  I  would  be  pleased  to  give  my 
consent,"  repeated  Mr.  Marvel  with  a  slight 
chuckle  of  satisfaction. 

"  That  as  we  love  each  other  very  much, 
we  would  like  to  get  married." 

"  That's  dutilul,"  said  Mr.  Marvel,  lay- 
ing down  his  pipe,  oracularly.  "  I'm  only 
agreeable.  Josh,  because  I  am  old,  and  be- 
cause I  am  married.  As  I  said  to  mother 
the  other  night,  when  we  was  talking  the 
matter  over  —  ah  1  you  may  stare ;  but  we 


know  all  about  it  long  ago.  Didn't  we, 
mother  ?  Well,  as  I  was  saying  to  mother 
the  other  night,  if  I  was  a  young  man,  and 
mother  wasn't  in  the  way,  I'd  marry  her  my- 
self and  you  might  go  a-whistling.  Shiver 
my  timbers,  my  lass  !  "  he  cried,  breaking 
through  the  trammels  of  wood-turning,  and 
becoming  suddenly  nautical,  "come  and 
give  me  a  ki«s." 

Which  Eilen  did;  and  so  the  little  com- 
edy ended  happily.  Joshua,  having  a  right 
now  to  sit  with  his  arm  round  Ellen's  waist, 
availed  himself  of  it,  you  may  be  sure.  If 
Ellen  went  out  of  the  room,  he  had  also 
a  right  to  go  and  inquire  where  she  was  go- 
ing ;  and  this,  curiously  enough,  happened 
four  or  five  times  during  the  night.  If  any 
thing  could  have  added  to  the  happiness 
of  Mr.  Marvel  —  except  being  any  thing 
but  a  wood-turner,  which,  at  his  age,  was 
out  of  the  question  — it  was  this  proceeding 
of  Joshua's.  Every  time  Joshua  followed 
Ellen  out  of  the  room,  Mr.  Marvel  looked 
at  his  wife  with  pleasure  beaming  from  his 
eyes. 

"  It  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  time  when  I 
came  a-courting  you,  mother,"  he  said. 
"  How  the  world  spins  round  1  It  might 
have  been  last  night  when  you  and  me 
were  saying   good-by  at  the  street-door.  " 

Mrs.  Marvel  had  not  spoken  to  her  hus- 
band without  cause  of  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  Basil  Kindred.  A  very  re- 
mai'kable  change  had  indeed  taken  place 
in  him.  A  mistrustful  expression  had  set- 
tled itself  upon  his  face,  accompanied  by  a 
keen  hungry  watchfulness  of  all  that  oc- 
curred around  him.  He  gave  short  an- 
swers, and  was  snappish  and  morose.  Yet 
not  a  look,  not  a  word,  not  a  gesture  es- 
cape his  notice.  He  did  not  avoid  his 
friends ;  he  rather  courted  their  society. 
He  repelled  their  advances,  but  he  sat 
among  them,  watching.  Every  sense  was 
employed  in  that  all-absorbing  task.  What 
was  it  that  he  was  trying  to  discover? 

The  change  was  so  sudden.  A  few  days 
a^o  he  was,  as  he  had  ever  been  hitherto, 
frank  and  cheerful, —  even  gay  sometimes. 
Now,  all  that  was  gone.  In  place  of  frank- 
ness, mistrust ;  in  place  of  cheerfulness, 
gloom.  Susan  was  the  only  one,  with  the 
exception  of  his  daughter,  to  whom  he  did 
not  speak  with  a  certain  bitterness.  His 
manner  to  all  the  others  was  as  though  some 
sensitive  chord  in  his  nature  had  been  sorely 
wounded  —  as  though  all  men  were  his  foes 
—  as  though  his  faith  in  what  was  gooil  and 
noble  in  human  nature  had  been  violently 
disturbed. 

See  him  now.  He  and  Minnie  have  been 
sitting  together  for  hours.  He  has  been 
strangely  stern  and  strangely  tender  to  her 


SUNSHINE   AND   CLOUD. 


95 


in  turn?,  but  she  is  used  to  his  -waywai'd 
moods.  lie  has  detained  her  by  his  side 
all  the  morniuir,  upon  one  and  another  idle 
pretext;  and  slie,  as  it"  wishful  to  jileaseliim. 
has  humored  ]iim,and  been  wonderliilly  sub- 
missive and  obedient.  But  onee  she  had  fall- 
en into  a  reverie  —  not  a  liappy  one  —  and 
he  had  broken  it  by  askiu'^  her  in  a  harsh 
voiee  what  she  w^as  dreaming  about.  She 
replied  only  by  a  startled  look,  and  resumed 
her  work,  whieh  had  been  lying  idly  in  her 
lap.  Repentant  of  his  harshness,  he  turned 
his  head  from  her  to  hide  the  sudden  spasm 
which  passed  into  his  face. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?  "  she  asked. 

''  N«,  dear  child." 

"  In  pain  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  child." 

Presently  she  put  aside  her  work,  and  rose 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  ^\Tiere  are  you  going  ?  "  he  asked  in  a 
strangely  anxious  voice. 

"  To  see  i\Irs.  Marvel,"  was  her  answer. 

"  Sit  you  down,"  he  cried  sternly. 

She  hesitated  and  lingered  by  the  door, 
beating  the  ground  with  her  foot  irresolute- 
ly. Seeing  that,  he  grasped  her  wrist  firm- 
ly, and  hurt  her  without  intending  to  do  so. 
The  muscles  of  her  face  quivered,  but  not 
from  the  pain. 

"  O  JNIinuie,  my  child  !  "  he  cried  ;  then, 
releasing  her,  "  have  I  hurt  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  in  a  hard  voice. 
"  Why  do  you  not  wish  me  to  go  to  Mrs. 
Marvel's  house  ?  You  have  forbidden  me 
before." 

"  You  trouble  them  too  much." 

"  That  is  not  your  reason,  father,"  she  said 
in  the  same  hard  voice.  "  You  are  hiding 
something  from  me." 

"  Are  you  not  hiding  something  from  me, 
Minnie  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  anxiously  into 
her  face. 

"  What  should  I  hide  from  you  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  reply,  coldly  and  evasively.  "  I 
am  not  well,  father.  I  can't  stop  in  this 
room.  I  will  not  go  where  you  do  not  wish 
me." 

He  did  not  detain  her,  and  she  glided 
swiftly  out  of  the  room.  He  was  about  to 
follow  her,  when  a  dizziness  came  upon  him, 
and  ho  sank  into  a  chair.  It  was  only  by  a 
strong  effort  of  will  that  he  kept  himself  from 
fainting. 

"  My  strength  is  deserting  me,"  he  mut- 
tered, his  breath  coming  thick  and  fast ; 
"  scarcely  a  day  passes  but  this  weakness 
comes  upon  me."  He  held  up  his  hand  ;  it 
trembled  like  a  leaf.  "  Have  I  I'ailed  in  my 
duty  to  her  ?  Is  it  my  fault  that  she  does 
not  confide  in  me?  Or  is  this  a  wicked 
lie  ?  "  He  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and 
read  it,  not  once,  but  many  times.  "  No," 
he  groaned ;  '•  it  is  true.     I  feel  that  it  is 


true."  He  rose  to  ins  feet  and  felt  like  one 
just  risen  from  a  sick  bi'd.  He  was  as  weak 
as  a  child  ;  so  weak,  indeeil,  tliat  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  weakness  brought  tears  into 
his  eyes;  and  he  said  in  a  voice  of  anguish, 
•'  Now,  when  my  child's  h;i  ppiness  —  her 
honor,  perhaps  —  depends  upon  my  watch- 
ful care,  I  am  lieljjlcss.  If  1  had  some  one 
t!iat  I  could  trust !  some  one  to  help  me  !  " 
He  heard  a  step  upon  the  stairs.  It  was 
like  an  answer  to  his  wish.  "  It  is  Susan," 
he  muttered ;  "  the  one  being  that  I  know 
in  the  world  who  would  serve  me  faithfully. 
"  Susan,  Susan  !  " 

She  heard  him,  although  his  voice  was 
faint  and  low,  and  entered  the  room. 
Alarmed  by  the  traces  of  illness  in  his  face, 
she  hastened  to  his  side. 

"  You  are  ill,"  she  said,  assisting  him  to  a 
seat.     "  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  You  can  do 
much.     You  can  be  my  friend." 

"  Your  friend  1 "  she  exclaimed.  Had 
she  not  always  been  his  friend  ?  But  there 
was  a  deeper  meaning  in  liis  voice  than  she 
had  ever  heard  before,  and  his  appeal  sent 
thrills  of  pleasure  to  her  heart. 

"I  am  ill,"  he  continued  ;  "but  it  is  more 
from  weakness  than  any  thing  else.  I  am 
not  in  pain.  A  dizziness  seizes  me,  as  it 
seized  me  just  now,  and  I  feel  as  if  my 
senses  were  leaving  me.  1  can  scarcely 
stand  ;  and  I  have  no  one  to  trust  to." 

"  Not  Minnie?  "  she  said  softly  and  won- 
deringly. 

"  Hush !  Minnie,  of  all  others,  must  not 
be  told  of  this.     Can  I  trust  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  work  till  I  dropped  to  serve 
you." 

A  flush  came  into  his  fiice. 

"  To  serve  me  and  Minnie  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes  ;  to  serve  you  and  Minnie." 

"  Give  me  your  sacred  promise  that  what 
passes  between  us  now. will  never  be  di- 
vulged, will  never  be  spoken  of,  by  you,  un- 
less my  tongue  is  sealed,  and  the  time 
comes  when  it  may  be  necessary  to  speak." 

"  Does  it  concern  you  ? "  she  asked 
with  a  natural  hesitation  ;  for  there  was  a 
fcverishness  in  his  manner  that  alarmed 
her. 

"  It  concerns  me  and  Minnie." 

"I  promise." 

"  Faithfully  and  sacredly  ?  " 

"  Faithfully  and  sacredly." 

He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it,  and 
then  gave  her  the  letter,  and  asked  her 
to  read  it.  It  contained  but  a  few  words, 
but  they  were  sufticient  to  cause  a  look 
of  horror  to  start  into  her  eyes. 

"  Can  it  be  true  ?  "  she  asked,  more  of 
herself  than  of  him ;  and  her  trembling 
lips  turned  white  and  parched  in  an  in- 
stant. 


96 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


"  Susan,"  said  Basil  Kindred,  "  I  have 
lived  long  enough  in  the  world  to  know  its 
fialseness.  In  years  gone  by,  men  have 
smiled  in  my  face  and  shaken  me  by  the 
hand,  and  I  have  learned  afterwards,  that 
while  their  manner  spoke  me  fair,  there 
was  treachery  in  their  hearts.  My  Ufe  has 
been  a  hard  one,  what  with  false  friends 
and  bitter  poverty ;  but  I  bore  it  all  pa- 
tiently, and  lived  —  lived,  when  a  hundred 
times  voices  have  whispered  in  my  ear, 
'  Die,  and  be  at  peace ! '  I  had  an  object  to 
live  for  —  Minnie,  my  darling  child  !  So  I 
lived  and  suffered,  rather  than  die  and 
leave  her  unprotected.  It  was  a  bitter,  bit- 
ter hfe.  You  can  guess  how  hard  a  thing 
it  was  for  me  to  find  food  for  her,  and  how 
often  she  had  to  go  without  it,  before  the 
the  day  when  you  and  that  boy  —  I  cannot 
utter  his  name  —  came  to  our  rescue.  From 
that  time  until  this  dark  cloud"  —  he 
placed  his  hand  on  the  letter  —  "  fell  upon 
me,  I  have  been  happy.  And  now,  when 
I  need  all  my  strength  to  fulfil  my  duty  as 
a  father  —  when  it  seems  to  me  a  crime 
that  I  should  allow  her  to  go  from  my  side 
—  this  weakness  strikes  me  down." 

"  Does  she  know  ?  " 

"  She  knows,  and  must  know,  nothing. 
But  she  must  be  watched.  If  there  be  no 
truth  in  this  letter  —  and  there  may  not 
be  "  — 

"  I  pray  not !  Oh,  I  pray  not !  "  cried 
Susan.  "  For  others'  sakes  as  well  as 
yours." 

"I  understand  you;  if  there  be  no 
truth  in  it,  no  one  need  know  of  it  but  you 
and  I." 

"What  shall  I  do?" 

"  Watch  her  and  him,  without  seeming 
to  do  so,"  said  Basil  Kindred.  "K  she 
goes  out,  follow  her  if  you  can  without  let- 
ting her  see  you,  and  let  me  know  all  you 
see  and  hear.  Mind,  I  say  all ;  keep  noth- 
ino-  fx'om  me.  You  have  promised  sacred- 
ly." 

"  I  will  do  what  you  bid  me." 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  in 
the  midst  of  her  great  sorrow  his  action 
brought  a  liappy  feeling  to  her  heart. 
When  she  was  gone,  Basil  Kindred  un- 
locked a  desk  and  took  out  a  clasped  book, 
in  which  he  wrote  a  few  lines.  "  It  is  ne- 
cessary," he  sighed,  "tor  my  memory  is 
lost  to  me  sometimes,  and  I  cannot  recall 
events ;  and  it  may  save  me  from  doing  an 
injustice."  Then  he  replaced  the  book  and 
locked  the  desk. 

That  night,  in  her  room,  Susan  sat  upon 
her  bed  and  bowed  her  head  to  her  knees, 
sobbing,  "  O  my  poor  Dan  1  O  my  poor, 
poor  Ellen !  if,  after  all  these  years,  you 
should  find  him  false  1 " 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE  ONLY   DUTY  THAT  MINNIE   CAN 
UNDERSTAND. 

The  "  Merry  Andrew  "  was  nearly  ready 
for  sea  again,  and  Joshua,  having  been 
duly  installed  as  third  mate,  was  busily  em- 
ployed superintending  cargo.  The  Old  Sail- 
or was  immensely  delighted,  and  took  an 
active  interest  in  Joshua's  doings.  When 
he  was  told  of  the  engagement  between 
Joshua  and  Ellen,  he  smacked  Joshua  on 
the  back  and  shook  his  hand  again  and 
again,  and  kissed  Ellen  a  dozen  times,  the 
old  rogue !  as  if  he  were  the  lucky  man, 
and  Joshua  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  He 
took  a  private  opportunity  of  entei'ing  into 
a  confidential  conversation  with  the  young 
lovers,  and  told  them  he  had  made  over 
his  barge  and  all  his  little  property  to  El- 
len and  Joshua  jointly,  "for  better  or 
worse,"  he  added,  with  a  vague  idea  that 
those  words  were  necessary  in  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case.  And  he  took  many 
other  opportunities  of  instructing  Joshua 
in  the  duties  of  mate  and  master,  and  also 
in  navigation  and  astronomy.  He  was 
more  exacting  than  any  Marine  Board 
would  have  been,  and  his  instructions  and 
examinations  were  of  a  very  severe  and 
precise  character.  But  he  had  a  willing 
and  apt  pupil  in  Joshua;  and  he  delighted 
Ellen  by  whispering  to  her  confidentially 
that  Joshua  would  make  as  fine  a  mariner 
as  could  be  ibund  in  the  service.  The  ex- 
aminations generally  took  place  when  only 
the  Old  Sailor,  Joshua,  and  Ellen  were  to- 
gether ;  and  then  Joshua  propounded,  to 
the  satisfaction  of  his  teacher,  such  prob- 
lems as,  how  he  would  send  a  top-gallant 
yard  down  in  a  gale  of  wind ;  what  he  would 
do  if  he  wanted  to  shiver  his  main-topsail 
yard  when  the  leeches  were  taut  and  the 
main  yard  could  not  be  touched :  how  to 
turn  in  a  dea<l-eye ;  what  he  would  do  if 
he  wanted  to  tack  on  a  lee  shore,  and  the 
ship  wouldn't  come  round,  and  there  was 
not  room  to  wear ;  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 
The  Old  Sailor  was  not  satisfied  with  sim- 
ple answers,  but  insisted  upon  the  why  and 
the  wherelbre  ;  so  that  what  with  working 
and  studying  and  sweethearting,  Joshua's 
time  was  well  taken  up.  Ellen  herself  be- 
came quite  learned  in  certain  matters  con- 
cerning Joshua's  profession,  and  made  him 
laugh  heartily  by  the  wise  air  she  assumed 
when  she  repeated  the  twelve  signs  of  the 
Zodiac,  which  she  had  learned  by  heart 
perfectly,  from  Aries  to  Pisces.  Joshua,  re- 
peating after  her,  would  purposely  leave 
out  Gemini  or  Aquarius,  or  another  sign, 
and  would  instantly  be  taken  to  account 
In  this  simple  way  many  happy  hours  were 


THE  ONLY  DUTY  MINNIE  CAN  UNDEr.STAND. 


97 


passed.  Tlio  Old  Sailor  had  a  fjreat  likiii^j 
lor  Captain  Liddle,  bt'cause  he  was  a  thor- 
ough trailer,  and  Captain  Liddle  admired 
the  Old  Sailor  for  the  simplicity  of  his  char- 
acter. 

"  You  are  in  luck's  way,"  said  the  Old 
Sailor  to  Joshua:  "  you  are  sailing  under  a 
good  master  —  not  a  land  saint  and  sea 
devil  —  but  a  good  officer  and  a  kind  man  ; 
and  you  have  the  dearest  and  the  truest- 
hearted  lass  in  the  world  to  stand  by  you 
through  life.  Do  your  duty,  Josh,  to  her 
and  to  your  ship." 

"  I  will  do  my  duty  to  both,  sir,  you  may 
depend." 

The  Old  Sailor  took  out  his  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  thoughtfully  dabbed  his 
face.  "  1  don't  doubt  that  you  will,  my 
lad,"  he  said,  "  and  to  Dan  as  well."  Now 
the  Old  Sailor  uttered  these  last  words 
with  a  significance  that  seemed  intended  to 
convey  a  deep  meaning.  His  action  was 
appropriately  mysterious.  He  looked 
round  cautiously,  after  the  best  manner  of 
stage  robbers,  and  hooked  Joshua  nearer  to 
him  by  a  motion  of  his  forefinger.  Hark 
ye,  my  lad,"  he  whispered,  guiding  the 
words  to  Joshua's  ear  by  placing  his  open 
palm  on  one  side  of  his  mouth ;  "  Hark  ye. 
Do  you  suspect  any  thing  Y  " 

Joshua  oi>ened  his  eyes  very  wide  at 
this  ;  he  had  not  the  slightest  consciousness 
of  the  Old  Sailor's  meaning. 

"  You  don't  y  "  continued  the  Old  Sailor 
in  the  same  mysterious  manner.  "  So  much 
the  better.  I  didn't  suppose  you  did. 
Now,  supposing  —  mind,  I  only  say  sup- 
posiu'jf,  my  lad  —  supposing  you  were 
asked  to  do  a  very  out-of-the-way  thing  for 
Dan's  sake,  but  a  thing  notwithstanding 
that  you  would  be  very  glad  to  do  "  —  this 
with  a  chuckle  expressive  of  intense  enjoy- 
ment —  "  would  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  AVould  I  do  it,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Joshua 
warmly.  "  I  don't  think  you  or  any  one 
could  ask  me  to  do  a  thing  for  Dan's  sake, 
that  I  shouldn't  be  glad  to  do." 

"  Just  my  opinion,"  said  the  Old  Sailor, 
still  in  the  same  charnel-house  whisper; 
"  and  if  Dan's  happiness  depended  upon 
your   doing   this   out-ol-the-way   thing  " — 

"  Why,  then,  sir,  more  eagerly  and  will- 
ingly than  ever." 

'•  That's  plain  sailing  ;  it  might  come  to 
pass,  or  it  mightn't,"  said  the  Old  Sailor, 
returning  his  handkerchief  to  its  abiding- 
place  in  the  bosom  of  his  shirt,  to  denote 
that  the  conversation  was  at  an  end. 

But  this  did  not  satisfy  Joshua.  "  What 
might  come  to  pass,  sir  V  "  he  asked. 

The  Old  Sailor  winked  craftily  at  Joshua, 
and  said,  "  All  I've  got  to  say  is,  that  it 
might  come  to  pass  or  it  mightn't." 

And  try  as  he  would,  that  was  all  the 
7 


satisfaction  Joshua  could  obtain  from  the 
Old  Sailor. 

In  the  mean  time  Basil  Kindred's  condi- 
tion had  become  so  serious,  that  he  was 
unable  to  leave  his  room,  and  he  was  un- 
reasonably obstinate  in  his  refusal  to  see  a 
doctor.  Ik',  knew  well  enough  what  was 
the  matter  with  him,  he  said,  and  doctors 
could  not  relieve  him.  But  one  day,  urged 
by  Dan,  Minnie  brought  a  doctor  to  his 
bedside  without  consulting  him. 

"  Your  daughter  brought  me,"  said  the 
doctor,  seeing  that  Basil  was  displeased, 
and  wisely  judging  that  mention  of  his 
daughter  would  calm  him. 

Basil  called  Minnie  to  him  and  kissed 
her.  "  Go  out  of  the  room,  child,''  he  said  ; 
"  what  passes  between  me  and  the  doctor 
must  be  private." 

Minnie  obeyed,  and  went  down  stairs  to 
sit  with  Dan,  and  the  doctor  remained  with 
his  patient  for  half  an  hour.  As  the  doctor 
came  down,  Minnie  opened  the  door  of 
Dan's  room,  and  the  doctor  entered. 

'•  Well,  sir  ?  "  asked  Dan. 

"  Y'our  father  is  suffering  from  rheuma- 
tism and  low  fever,"  said  the  doctor,  ad- 
dressing Minnie.  "  I  have  left  a  prescrip- 
tion in  his  room  ;  run  and  get  it." 

Minnie  went  up  stairs,  and  the  doctor 
said  to  Dan,  "  You  are  very  anxious  about 
Mr.  Kindred." 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  anxious,  both  for  his  sake 
and  for  Minnie's." 

"  Minnie  —  ah  !  yes,  his  daughter.  Well, 
I  may  tell  you  in  confidence  what  I  must 
not  tell  her.  He  is  sufi'ering  from  some- 
thing more  than  rheumatic  fever.  He  has 
a  disease  wliich  may  prove  fatal  at  any 
moment.  A  strong  mental  shock  would 
very  likely  prove  fatal  to  him.  His  mind 
is  far  from  tranquil  at  the  present  time, 
and  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should 
have  quiet  and  repose.     Good-morning." 

Grieved  as  Dan  was  to  hear  this,  it  re- 
lieved him,  for  it  enabled  him  to  account 
for  the  sudden  change  in  Basil  Kindred's 
manner  which  had  so  perplexed  him.  It 
also  served  to  account  for  a  change  he  had 
observed  in  Minnie.  It  was  not  that  she 
was  less  friendly  towards  him ;  on  the  con- 
trary, she  had  on  many  occasions  been 
more  tender  to  him  than  usual.  But  the 
frank  cordiality  of  her  manner  was  gone ; 
she  was  more  reserved,  and  an  engrossed 
expression,  evidently  born  of  painful 
thought,  had  settled  upon  her  face.  Dan 
had  watched  it  with  the  sensitive  eye  of 
love,  wondering  what  had  brought  it  into 
her  face.  Now  he  knew  the  cause :  her 
father's  illness  brought  gloomy  forebodings 
to  her  heart  and  made  her  anxious.  "  Does 
she  ever  think  that  I  love  her  V  "  thought 
Dan,  "  and  that  I  am  only  waiting  for  the 


98 


JOSHUA  MARVEL, 


proper  time  to  tell  her  that  my  life  is 
devoted  to  her  ?  "  He  would  have  spoken 
that  very  day,  but  a  sentiment  of  true  deli- 
cacy restrained  him.  The  feeling  that 
closed  his  lips  upon  the  subject  for  the 
present  could  not  have  existed  in  any  but 
a  chivalrous  nature. 

When  Joshua  came  home  in  the  evening, 
Dan  told  him  what  the  doctor  had  said. 
Joshua  was  silent  for  a  little  while  before 
he  spoke.  "  It  is  very  singular,"  he  then 
said,  "  that  what  you  have  told  me  should 
make  me  easier  in  my  mind.  Both  JVlin- 
nie's  and  Mr.  Kindred's  manner  lately  have 
given  me  great  pain,  filling  me  with  un- 
easiness, which  I  have  vainly  struggled 
against.     It  is  made  clear  to  me  now." 

"  Why,  that  was  also  my  feeling,  Jo," 
exclaimed  Dan  almost  gayly.  "  Another 
proof  of  the  sympathy  between  us." 

"  I  shall  go  and  see  Mr.  Kindred.  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself  to  have  allowed  such 
small  feelings  to  exist.  I  ought  to  have 
made  more  allowance  for  his  sufferings." 
His  hand  was  resting  upon  Dan's  shoulder. 
He  inclined  himself  so  that  he  could  see 
the  face  of  his  friend.  "  And  Minnie  ?  " 
he  asked  in  that  attitude.  "  How  is  it  with 
you  and  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  more  hopeful  than  ever,  Jo ;  but 
it  would  not  be  right  for  me  to  speak  to  her 
in  her  trouble." 

"  That  is  like  you,  Dan,"  said  Joshua 
approvingly.  "  Ever  tender  —  ever  con- 
siderate—  ever  just.  No;  you  must  not 
speak  until  Mr.  Kindred  is  better.  You 
must  wait." 

Dan  nodded  assent,  and  Joshua  went  up 
stairs  to  Basil  Kindred's  room.  He  paused 
at  the  door  and  listened.  No  sound  came 
from  within,  and  he  received  no  answer  to 
his  knock.  He  opened  the  door  softly. 
The  room  was  in  darkness. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  was  asked  in  the  ab- 
stracted voice  of  one  just  aroused  from 
sleep. 

"  It  is  I  —  Joshua.    Shall  I  get  a  light  ?  " 

"  No  ;  "  with  a  sudden  fierceness.  "  What 
brings  you  here  ?  " 

The  want  of  friendliness  in  Basil  Kin- 
dred's voice  was  very  painful  to  Joshua, 
and  it  was  only  by  a  great  effort  that  he 
was  enabled  to  maintain  his  composure. 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  sir  ?  "  he 
asked,  very  gently. 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  your  changed  manner  towards  me, 
sir.  And  not  to  me  only,  but  to  all  of  us. 
Have  we  done  any  thing  wrong  —  have  / 
done  any  thing  wixjng  ?  If  I  have,  it  has 
been  done  unconsciously,  and  it  is  but  just 
that  you  should  not  leave  me  in  ignorance 
of  my  fault.  I  came  up  to  you  now,  sir,  to 
ask  that  we  should  be  to  each  other  as 


we  once  were  —  as  we  were  before  I  went 
to  sea  —  as  we  were  on  the  first  day  of  our 
meeting,  when  you  said,  '  God  bless  you, 
Joshua  Marvel.'  I  have  never  forgotten 
that,  sir.  I  do  not  speak  to  you  for  myself 
alone ;  I  speak  for  all  of  us,  who  hold  you, 
I  am  sure,  in  the  tenderest  respect  and  re- 
gard." Joshua  spoke  feelingly,  and  his 
words  had  the  effect  of  soflening  Mr.  Kin- 
dred's manner. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said  sofbly  and  very 
slowly  ;  "  it  is  not  just.  Sit  here  by  my 
side."  Joshua  sat  where  he  was  bidden,  and 
waited  for  Mr.  Kindred  to  resume.  "  Dis- 
temper of  the  mind  accompanies  distemper 
of  the  body,"  continued  the  sick  man,  "  and 
you  must  lay  some  part  of  my  unfriendli- 
ness to  that  cause.  I  am  sick  in  body,  and 
therefore  peevish,  and  therefore,  perhaps, 
unjust.  Sick  men  have  sick  fancies.  They 
magnify  straws,  even  as,  lying  here  in  the 
dark,  I  can,  by  the  power  of  my  will,  mag- 
nify the  shadows  that  rest  within  this  room 
and  make  them  '  palpable  to  feeling  as  to 
sight.'  Joshua  Marvel,  I  owe  you  much ; 
}-ou  saved  me  and  mine  from  starvation.  I 
am  glad  that  you  are  here  now,  and  that 
you  met  my  fretfulness  with  patience  ;  for 
there  is  that  within  my  mind,  not  newly 
born,  but  newly  risen,  that  I  would  gladly 
not  forget  again.  All  the  happiness  of  the 
last  few  years  I  owe  to  you,  for  it  was  for 
your  sake  we  were  welcomed  here." 

"  The  pleasure  your  society  has  given  to 
all  those  dearest  to  my  heart,  sir,  is  recom- 
pense a  thousand-fold." 

"  Those  dearest  to  your  heart !  "  repeated 
Basil  Kindred  musingly.  "  ^^lio  are  tlaey  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know,  sir,"  replied  Joshua, 
surprised  at  the  question. 

"  It  is  but  a  whim  —  a  sick  man's  whim 
—  but  tell  me :  of  all  those  dearest  to  your 
heart,  whom  would  you  place  first  ?  Do 
not  hesitate  to  answer  me.  We  are  in  the 
dark,  and  I  cannot  see  your  face." 

"  In  the  dark  or  in  the  light,  before  all 
the  world,  if  it  were  necessary,  I  could 
name  but  one,  whom  you  know  well." 

"  Still,  to  satisfy  me,  name  her." 

"  Ellen,  sir.  You  know  that  she  is  to  be 
my  wife." 

"  I  have  heard  so.  Take  my  hand.  I 
wish  you  the  happiness  that  faithful  love 
deserves.  No  worldly  haj^piness  can  be 
greater.  It  makes  a  heaven  of  earth,  in 
whatever  sphere  of  life  it  comes.  And  if, 
as  it  was  with  me,  the  partner  of  your 
faithful  love  is  called  away  before  you,  the 
remembrance  of  her  goodness  and  purity 
will  dwell  forever  in  your  heart,  like  a  di- 
vine star."  His  voice  had  grown  so  sol- 
emn, that  Joshua  could  only  press  his  hand 
in  reply.  Presently  Basil  Kindred  spoke 
again.     "  Your  past  life  should  be  a  guar- 


THE   OXLY   DUTY   MINNIE   CAN   UNDERSTAND. 


99 


antee  for  the  future.  You  have  been  f  lith- 
ful  in  your  I'riemlship;  you  should  be  faith- 
ful in  your  love." 

"  You  do  not  doubt  it,  sir?  " 

"  I  cannot  doubt  it ;  your  conduct  gives 
doubt  the  lie.  The  shadows  seem  to  be 
cleariu'T  away.  I  liave  much  to  say  yet,  if 
you  will  sit  with  me  a  little  while." 

"I  am  glad  to  do  so,  and  happy  to  hear 
you  speaking  to  me  again  in  your  old  kind 
manner." 

"  It  is  so  hard  to  reconcile,"  mused  Basil 
speaking  as  much  to  himself  as  to  Joshua. 
"  From  whom  can  the  accusation  have 
come  V  And  the  motive  —  what  can  be 
the  motive?  Joshua,  answer  me  —  have 
you  an  enemy  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  not  one  that  I  know  of." 

"  Reflect  a  little.  Can  you  bring  to  mind 
any  circumstance  that  occurred  during  the 
years  that  you  have  been  away  to  induce 
you  to  suppose  that  some  one  is  conspiring 
to  do  you  injury  ?  " 

"  I  am  more  than  surprised  at  your  ques- 
tion, sir  ;  1  am  grieved  that  you  should  ask 
it,  and  apparently  with  reason.  To  my 
knowledge  I  have  not  a  bad  friend  in  the 
world." 

"Your  surprise  is  natural,"  said  Basil; 
"  but  though  you  may  think  my  remarks 
strange,  do  not  think  they  are  prompted  by 
unkindness.  I  have  good  reasons  for  what 
I  say.  I  hold  this  conversation  sacred, 
Joshua.  As  it  may  be  the  last  we  shall 
ever  have,  let  what  is  said  between  us  be 
said  in  perfect  confidence." 

"  Agreed  as  to  that,  sir ;  but  you  must 
not  say  that  this  is  the  last  conversation 
we  shall  ever  have." 

"  When  do  you  go  to  sea  again  ?  "  asked 
Basil  Kindred,  taking  no  heed  of  Joshua's 
remonstrance. 

"  In  less  than  a  fortnight.  We  set  sail 
first  for  Sydney,  New  South  Wales,  then 
for  China,  then  for  home.  A  short  trip. 
We  shall  not  be  away  long  this  time." 

"  Before  you  return,  I  shall  have  gone 
on  a  longer  voyage  than  you  are  about  to 
take.  Nay,  do  not  interrupt  me.  I  have 
received  warning  —  bodily,  not  spiritual, 
and  therefore  not  open  to  doubt.  It  is  im- 
possible that  I  can  Uve  much  longer.  And 
with  this  conviction  strong  within  me,  I  am 
tortured  by  an  an.xiety  that  racks  me  with 
a  mightier  pain  than  that  which  even  as  I 
speak  pierces  me  to  the  maiTOw." 

Joshua  was  profoundly  shocked  at  the 
disclosure  ;  he  had  not  thought  it  was  so 
bad  as  that.  Instinctively  he  knew  what 
the  anxiety  was  by  which  Basil  was  tor- 
tured, and  Basil  answered  his  thought. 

"You  guess  what  my  anxiety  springs 
from.  W^hat  will  become  of  Minnie  when 
I  am  gone  ?  " 


If  he  had  seen  !  If  in  that  darkened 
room  a  vision  had  appeared  to  answer  him, 
could  he  hav('  believed  that  it  woiUd  come 
to  pass  ?  But  silence  was  his  only  answer 
for  a  tiTue  ;  for  Joshua  was  revolving  in  his 
mind  whctlier  it  would  be  wise  and  merci- 
ful—  whether  he  had  any  right  to  speak 
to  Basil  Kindred  about  Dan's  love  for  Min- 
nie. The  conversation  between  them  was 
sacred  and  confidential,  and  the  sick  man's 
tone  when  he  spoke  of  the  bodily  warnings 
he  had  received  was  so  impressive,  that  it 
carried  conviction  with  it.  It  would  be 
like  speaking  to  a  dying  man,  and  it  would 
be  serving  his  friend. 

"  That  is  my  great  anxiety,"  continued 
Basil ;  "  were  my  mind  relieved  upon  that 
point,  I  should  fear  nothing,  for  death  is 
my  smallest  terror.  I  suffer  deserved  mis- 
ery when  I  say  that  even  I,  her  father,  do 
not  know  her  nature  thoroughly,  and  that 
I  fear  to  think  to  what  extent  her  impulse 
might  carry  her.  But  I  know  that  she 
needs  guidance,  and  that  she  cannot  con- 
trol herself  I  have  taught  her  ill,  or  rather 
have  not  taught  her  at  all.  I  have  been 
remiss  in  my  flitherly  duty  —  not  inten- 
tionally, God  knows  !  But  I  see  it  now  — • 
I  see  it  now."  Even  in  the  dark  he  turned 
his  face  from  Joshua,  the  more  completely 
to  hide  his  tribulation.  "  There  is  but  one 
duty  she  can  understand  —  the  duty  of 
love.  She  knows  no  higher.  She  com- 
prehends that,  because  it  is  instinctive. 
She  has  her  mother's  devoted  nature,  and 
would  sacrifice  herself  for  the  only  duty- 
she  can  comprehend,  as  her  mother  sacri- 
ficed herself  for  me.  But  she  could  not  be 
made  to  understand  that  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances love  may  be  sinful." 

Joshua,  following  his  train  of  thought, 
heard  Basil's  words,  but  scarcely  under- 
stood their  sense.     Still  he  said,  — 

"  She  loves  you,  sir." 

"  Yes,  she  loves  me  as  a  father,  and  by 
that  love  I  have  unconsciously  controlled 
her.  But  that  power  has  gone  from  me. 
Our  minds  are  strangers  ;  they  used  not  to 
be  so.  Once  she  hid  nothing  from  me  ; 
now  as  I  watch  her  I  see  in  her  eyes  the 
attempt  to  hide  her  thoughts,  and  I  cannot 
express  to  you  my  agony  in  knowing  that 
her  heart  and  mind  are  not  open  to  me,  as 
they  have  hitherto  been.  If  I  knew  —  if  I 
only  knew,  I  should  be  satisfied ;  for 
then  I  might  protect  her.  Sometimes 
I  think  that  another  kind  of  love  has 
come  to  her,  and  has  shadowed  the  love 
she  bore  for  me.  But  for  whom  ?  Do  you 
know  ?  " 

He  asked  the  question  in  a  singular  tone 
of  fierceness  and  entreaty ;  but  Joshua 
was  thinking  of  Dan,  and  did  not  reply. 
Have  I  the  right  to  speak?   he  thought; 


100 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


and  an  affirmative  answer  did  not  come 
clearly  to  his  mind. 

"  You  are  silent,"  continued  Basil  in  a 
quieter  tone.  "Are  you  concealing  any 
thing  from  me  ?  " 

"  Wh;it  should  I  conceal  from  you,  sir  ?  " 
asked  Joshua  in  reply,  after  a  pause. 

Basil  Kindred  sighed,  as  the  words  so 
hesitatingly  spoken  came  from  Joshua's 
lips. 

"  Young  men  are  often  thoughtless  in 
their  actions,"  he  said  mildly,  as  if  wishful 
to  rob  the  remark  of  direct  significance ; 
"  they  do  not  know  the  depth  and  earnest- 
ness of  some  womanly  natures.  Listen,  I 
will  tell  you  my  story  ;  it  may  be  a  lesson 
and  a  warning  to  you." 


C 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

love's  sacrifice. 

When  I  was  a  young  man,  I  was  an 
enthusiast.  My  mother  had  died  when  I  was 
a  child.  My  father  was  a  clergyman,  and 
wished  to  educate  me  for  the  church.  But 
my  heart  was  not  in  my  studies,  and  I  did 
not  satisfy  his  expectations.  I  was  too 
fond  of  poetry  and  plays,  my  tutors  told 
him;  sterner  studies  were  distasteful  to 
me,  and  they  met  with  nothing  but  disap- 
pointment from  so  unwilling  a  pupil.  I 
was  also  diflicult  to  control ;  would  indeed 
submit  to  no  control.  On  several  occasions 
when  a  company  of  players  came  to  the 
place  in  which  1  was  being  educated,  I  had 
stolen  away  to  the  theatre,  remaining  there 
until  nearly  midnight.  My  tutors  spoke 
the  truth.  From  the  first  night  that  I 
stepped  inside  the  walls  of  a  theatre  and 
saw  a  tragedy,  my  fate  was  fixed.  I  was 
fascinated,  entranced.  1  had  never  con- 
ceived any  thing  so  grand,  so  noble,  so 
heroic.  Mine  was  a  pure  passion ;  glitter 
possibly  had  its  effect  upon  my  mind,  but 
no  base  ingredient  was  mixed  with  my  de- 
termination to  become  an  actor.  \Vliat 
nobler  calling  could  there  be  than  that 
which  clothed  the  noblest  of  all  the  arts 
with  living  fire,  which  made  dead  heroes 
speak  and  move  and  live  again?  My 
father  received  the  report  with  displeasure. 
He  looked  upon  a  theatre  as  the  abode  of 
all  tlie  views.  He  spoke  to  me  and  expos- 
tulated with  me,  and  I  argued  with  him  until 
I  angered  him.  Then  he  took  me  from 
school,  and  kept  me  at  home,  so  that  he 
might  wean  me  from  my  wicked  notions. 
I  had  not  been  home  a  month  before  a  com- 
pany of  players  paid  our  town  a  visit.     I 


was  aglow  with  excitement.  My  father 
warned  me  not  to  go ;  I  told  him  frankly 
that  I  would.  He  locked  me  in  my  bed- 
room ;  and  I  made  a  rope  of  the  sheets, 
and  let  myself  out  of  the  window.  I  came 
home  late,  and  my  father  opened  the  door 
for  me.  He  was  so  strict  a  disciplinarian, 
that  my  disobedience  was  a  crime  in  his 
eyes.  He  told  me  so  sternly,  and  told  me 
also  that  unless  I  complied  Aviih  the  rules 
of  his  house,  and  with  his  coounands  as  a 
father,  I  must  find  a  home  elsewhere.  He 
had  other  children,  and  he  declared  that  I 
should  not  contaminate  them  by  my  exam- 
ple. When  I  ventured  to  expostulate  with 
him,  he  stopped  me  peremptorily.  There 
was  no  sign  q^'  tenderness  in  his  manner. 
He  was  harsh  and  hard.  He  forgot  that  I 
inherited  some  share  of  his  own  determina- 
tion, and  that  I  was  as  likely  to  be  immova- 
ble in  my  ideas  as  he  was  in  his.  I  felt 
that  I  could  have  answered  him  by  argu- 
ments as  fbi'cible  as  his,  and,  with  the  not 
uncommon  egotism  of  youth,  I  believed  that 
I  could  have  convinced  him.  But  he  would 
not  listen  to  me,  and  I  was  compelled  to  sit 
silent  and  inwardly  rebellious  while  he  laid 
down  the  htrd  rules  by  which  my  life  was 
to  be  guided.  The  glittering  splendor  of 
the  play  I  had  witnessed  that  night  was 
vivid  to  my  mind  while  his  cold  words  fell 
upon  my  ears.  The  tragedian  upon  whose 
musical  impassioned  utterances  I  had  hung 
entranced,  was  one  of  the  greatest  that 
ever  trod  the  stage ;  the  play  I  liad  seen 
was  one  of  the  grandest  of  England's  grand- 
est poet.  What !  was  it  a  crime  to  come 
within  the  iufiueuce  of  such  a  teacher  ?  I 
could  not  believe  it ;  I  would  not  believe  it. 
My  father  said  my  inclinations  were  sinful, 
impious,  misbegotten,  and  preached  to  me 
sternly,  uncompromisingly,  until  my  heart 

—  beating  with  indignation  at  his  injustice 

—  was  as  hard  to  him  as  his  was  to  me. 
Then  he  left  the  room  with  a  cold  good- 
night, and  I  went  to  bed.  But  before  I 
went  to  sleep,  I  took  from  my  box  the 
volume  of  Shakspeare  containing  the  play 
that  I  had  seen,  and  as  I  read  the  noble 
verse,  the  men  and  women  who  took  part 
therein  came  and  insiiired  me  with  the  no- 
bility of  their  speech. 

On  the  ensuing  Sabbath  my  father  preach- 
ed against  play-liouses  and  players.  It  is  not 
necessary  for  me  here  to  dilate  upon  his  ar- 
guments ;  they  were  the  common  arguments 
generally  used  against  actors  and  their 
abominations.  Players  were  creatures  of 
the  devil,  working  in  his  service  for  the 
damnation  of  souls.  There  was  no  heaven 
for  them ;  by  their  lives  they  earned  dam- 
nation, and  they  received  their  wages  in 
another  life.  It  was  a  strong  sermon  —  "a 
beautiful  sermon,"  as  I  heard  many  men 


LOVE'S   SACRIFICE. 


101 


and  women  say  to  each  otiier  as  they 
walked  from  tlie  jilace  of  worship  ;  but  it 
filled  me  with  indi;^nation.  It  was  a  chal- 
lenge thrown  out  to  me,  and  I  accepted  it. 
I  do  not  attempt  to  justify  what  I  did  ;  but 
it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  should  be  false  to 
myself  if  I  did  not  do  it.  On  the  following 
evening  I  went  to  the  theatre  early,  and  se- 
cured a  seat  in  the  most  conspicuous  posi- 
tion, and  sitting  there  the  whole  night 
through,  I  applauded  with  more  than  my 
usual  enthusiasm,  and  even  —  perhaps  I 
should  be  ashamed  to  say  it  —  Avith  pur- 
posed demonstrativeness.  It  was  like  giv- 
ing the  lie  to  my  father's  teaching ;  but  I 
did  not  think  of  it  then  in  that  light.  I  was 
bound  in  honor  to  a  cei-tain  course  of  action, 
and  I  pursued  it.  When  the  play  was  over, 
I  walkiid  about  the  town  for  an  hour,  filled 
with  fervent  passionate  admiration  for  what 
I  had  witnessed.  It  was  jjast  midniirht 
when  I  knocked  at  my  father's  door.  No 
answer  came.  I  knocked  again.  Still  no 
answer.  I  was  standing  in  perplexity  as 
to  what  I  should  do,  when  a  piece  of  paper 
fluttei'cd  on  to  the  pavement  from  a  window 
above.  I  jacked  it  up,  and  saw  that  it  was 
addressed  to  me.  It  was  in  my  father's 
handwriting,  and  it  told  me  in  a  lew  simple 
words  that,  as  I  had  chosen  to  commit  a 
sinful  outrage  upon  his  cloth,  and  upon  his 
sermon  of  the  previous  day,  he  disowned 
me  as  a  son  and  cast  me  off.  A  postscript 
was  added,  to  the  effect  that,  upon  my  call- 
ing at  or  sending  to  a  certain  place  every 
week,  I  could  receive  a  small  sum  of  money 
sufficient  to  keep  me  from  want,  but  that  if 
I  adopted  the  stage  as  a  calling,  the  money 
would  be  withheld.  In  the  event  of  my 
adopting  the  stage,  my  fiither  asked  me  as 
a  favor  to  change  my  name.  I  never  re- 
ceived a  farthing  of  the  money ;  I  would 
have  died  rather  than  have  taken  it.  I 
started  that  night  from  my  native  town, 
and  I  have  never  seen  one  of  my  family 
since. 

I  need  not  dwell  upon  the  details  of  the 
next  few  years.  The  recollection  is  too 
painful  to  me.  When  I  walked  away  from 
my  father's  house,  I  solemnly  resolved  never 
to  set  foot  in  it  again  ;  I  renounced  all 
claims  of  kindred,  and  said  to  myself 
proudly  and  confidently,  "  I  am  alone  in  the 
world,  without  Iriends,  without  family.  I 
am  free  to  adopt  what  course  in  life  I  think 
best.  I  will  show  my  father,  by  my  career, 
tliat  I  am  right,  and  he  is  wrong."  I 
changed  my  name  to  the  name  by  which 
you  know  me.  Speaking  to  you  as  I  am 
speaking  now,  with  the  solemn  darkness 
around  us,  with  something  like  a  sense  of 
death  upon  me,  I  cannot  hide  from  you  any 
thing  that  comes  to  my  recollection.  The 
simple  reason  for  my  changing  my  name  was, 


that  it  laid  my  father  under  an  obligation 
tome.  The  motive  was  unw(jrthy;  but  it 
is  hard  to  reconcile  tiie  lol'ty  asjurations 
and  the  dcs])icable  sentiment  that  in  the 
same  moment  may  animate  a  single  mind. 
Well,  I  marched  into  the  W(n'ld  friemlless 
and  unknown,  filled  with  an  arrogant  cour- 
age, almost  with  defiance.  I  had  a  watch 
and  a  little  money ;  I  sold  my  watch  to  in- 
crease my  wealth,  and  before  I  had  spent 
my  last  shilling,  I  gained  admission  to  a 
company  of  players,  ami  commenced  life  as 
an  actor.  I  had  seen  these  actors  on  the 
stage,  and  had  been  ins|)ired  by  them  ;  but 
my  amazement  was  great  when  their  pri- 
vate lives  were  open  to  me.  The  men  and 
women  who  had  inspired  me  were  poor 
struggling  creatures,  living  almost  begging 
lives,  and  suffering  almost  incredible  hard- 
ships. The  salaries  they  were  supposed  to 
receive  were  barely  sufficient  to  pay  for 
food  and  lodging ;  but  the  money  that  was 
taken  at  the  doors  of  the  theatre  was  often  of 
such  trifling  amount,  that  at  the  end  of  the 
week  the  players  were  compelled  to  be  con- 
tent with  half,  ay,  with  a  fourth  the  sum  due 
to  them.  They  all  shared  alike  ;  there  Avas 
none  among  them  who  took  the  lion's  share 
while  the  others  starved.  The  leading 
tragedian  received  a  guinea  a  week,  and 
was  thankful  when  he  got  it.  I  have  seen 
him  play  iNIacbeth,  knowing  that  he  had 
not  tasted  food  since  breakfast ;  and  have 
seen  him  come  off  the  stage  at  the  end 
of  the  play  and  faint,  not  from  enthusiasm 
and  excitement,  but  from  sheer  hunger. 
From  this  you  can  form  some  idea  of  my 
sufferings;  but  I  never  wavered.  I  was 
indomitable  in  my  resolve.  Disenchanted 
as  I  was  to  some  extent,  I  saw  fame  and 
glory  before  me,  and  I  followed  the  beckon- 
ing shadows  that  lured  me  on.  And  then 
I  saw  so  much  to  admire  in  the  lives  of  my 
poor  companions  —  so  much  self-sacrifice, 
so  much  devotion,  so  much  virtue  —  that 
I  was  proud  to  suffer  with  them.  "  Cliil- 
dren  of  the  devil,"  I  had  heard  my  fatiier 
call  them.  A  strong  resentment  against 
him  possessed  me  when  I  became  a  witness 
of  their  privations  patiently  borne,  of  their 
self-sacrifices  cheerfully  made.  All  this 
while  —  though  I  endured  hunger  and 
every  species  of  worldly  misery ;  though  I 
had  to  walk,  many  and  many  a  time,  forty, 
fifty,  and  sixty  miles,  through  wet  and  mud, 
in  boots  and  shoes  that  scarcely  held  to- 
gether ;  though  I  often  slept  in  the  open 
air,  by  the  side  of  hay-stacks  and  under 
hedges  —  all  this  while  I  was  advancing  in 
my  profession,  and  enthusiastically  believed 
that  the  day  would  come  when  I  should  be 
fixmous  and  prosperous.  So  I  grew  to  be  a 
man,  more  firmly  hoping,  more  firmly  be- 
lieving.   I  was  what  is  called  leading  man; 


102 


JOSHUA  MABVEL. 


I  was  at  the  head  of  my  profession,  and  , 
■was  only  waiting;  for  the  tide  —  being  pre- 
pared for  it  —  that  was  to  lead  me  to  fame 
and  fortune.  But  young  as  I  was,  the  life 
I  had  led  had  already  destroyed  my  con- 
stitution. Rheumatism  had  planted  itself 
firmly  in  my  bones,  and  want  of  nom'ishing 
food  had  so  weakened  me,  that  I  felt  like 
an  old  man.  It  was  only  the  fire  of  enthu- 
siasm that  sustained  me.  I  believed  myself 
to  be  what  I  represented  at  niglit ;  I  lost  all 
consciousness  of  my  poor  self  while  I  was 
acting ;  and  would  often  come  from  the 
theatre  with  the  dream  strong  upon  me, 
and  in  my  sleep  weave  fancies  sulEciently 
bright  and  beautiful  to  recompense  me  for 
the  material  hardships  of  my  working  life. 

I  was  at  the  height  of  my  powers,  when 
it  was  both  my  happiness  and  my  misery  to 
come  to  a  town  where  we  had  arranged  to 
stop  for  a  fortnight,  and  where  I  gained 
such  honors  in  the  shajie  of  applause  as  had 
never  before  fallen  to  my  lot.  It  was  a 
prosperous  town,  and  our  two  weeks'  stay 
was  so  remunerative,  that  we  thought  it  ad- 
visable to  lengthen  our  visit.  We  staid 
for  six  weeks  —  for  six  happy  weeks.  The 
place  rang  with  my  praises.  I  was  a  won- 
der, a  genius  ;  such  acting  had  never  been 
seen.  Throughout  the  whole  of  my  career 
I  had  preserved  my  self-respect;  what  I 
suffered,  I  suffered  in  silence.  I  com- 
plained to  no  one,  and  I  never  forgot  my 
determination  to  prove,  what  perhaps  my 
father  might  one  day  be  forced  to  own,  that 
an  actor  may  be  as  good  a  man  as  a  clergy- 
man. Being  therefore,  in  my  habits  of  life, 
Somewhat  above  my  companions,  and  hav- 
ing been  so  successful  in  the  town,  I  was 
courted  by  some  of  the  towns-peojile,  and 
received  invitations  to  their  houses.  I  was 
what  is  termed,  I  believe,  a  social  success  ; 
and  I  was  proud  of  it.  Here  was  I,  an  act- 
or, moving  in  as  good  society  as  was  my 
father,  a  clergyman.  Who  was  right  now, 
he  or  I.  During  the  second  week  of  our 
stay,  I  was  invited  to  an  evening  party ; 
and  as  my  part  in  the  performance  for  that 
night  would  be  finished  by  nine  o'clock,  I 
was  enabled  to  accept  the  invitation.  Fatal 
night  —  happy  night !  That  night  was 
the  real  conmencement  of  my  life ;  it  shaped 
my  career  in  this  world,  and  it  makes  me 
look  forward  with  joy  unspeakable  to  the 
world  beyond,  where  I  shall  rejoin  the 
mother  of  my  darling  child.  Her  family 
were  well  born,  and  occupied  a  high  posi- 
tion in  the  town.  They  were  looked  upon 
as  leaders  of  fashion  ;  and  I  learned  that 
night  that  they  were  among  the  principal 
patrons  of  the  theatre,  and  that  her 
father  had  passed  the  highest  encomiums 
upon  me.  They  were  not  present  at  the 
party,  and  their  daughter  was  accompanied 


by  her  aunt,  an  eccentric  wealthy  lady, 
with  whom  she  resided  dm-ing  the  greater 
part  of  the  year.  I  had  the  good  fortune 
to  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  this  lady,  who 
had  a  passion  for  celvbrities,  and  she  invited 
me  to  her  house.  The  invitation  arose  in 
this  way ;  she  had  been  to  the  theatre  on 
the  previous  evening,  and  a  gentleman  in 
her  company  had  taken  exception  to  one 
of  my  readings.  She  mentioned  it  to  me, 
telling  me  that  she  had  insisted  that  I  was 
right,  and  at  the  same  time  confessed  to 
me,  that  she  had  not  the  slighest  idea  upon 
the  subject,  and  had  been  prompted  to  side 
with  me  only  for  the  reason  that  the  gen- 
tleman was  the  most  insufferably-conceited 
person  on  the  f\ice  of  the  earth. 

"  He  is  not  satisfied  unless  he  is  master 
in  every  thing,"  said  the  old  lady  with  won- 
derful warmth ;  "  he  is  dictatorial,  self- 
willed,  ungenerous,  and  supercilious  —  so 
much  so,  that  he  will  scarcely  condescend 
to  argue  a  jioint  upon  which  he  has  express- 
ed an  opinion.  Nothing  would  please  me 
more  than  to  be  able  to  bring  evidence 
against  hhn  respecting  your  reading." 

It  so  happened  that  my  reading  was  the 
correct  one,  and  that  the  emendation  made 
by  the  gentleman  was  unsupported  by  au- 
thority. I  told  her  so,  and  she  was  delighted. 

"But  it  will  be. of  no  use  my  telling  him 
what  you  say,"  she  said ;  "  and  it  would 
not  be  proper  to  bring  you  together  for  the 
purpose  of  quarrelling  about  it." 

Then  I  suggested  a  way.  I  would  con- 
sult two  or  three  old  editions  of  Shak- 
speare  we  had  in  the  company,  and  have 
fair  copies  of  the  passage  made  from  them, 
with  any  notes  or  annotations  that  might 
be  attached  to  it.  There  was  no  occasion, 
I  said,  to  let  the  gentleman  know  that  I 
supplied  the  evidence  ;  it  would  be  sufficient 
for  him  to  see  the  quotations  and  the  au- 
thorities, and  he  would  be  able  to  test  their 
correctness  for  himself  She  thanked  me 
warmly,  and  I  frankly  owned  to  her  that  I 
was  almost  as  much  interested  in  the  mat- 
ter as  she  was  herself. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  a  student,"  she  said,  tap- 
ping me  with  her  fan,  "  and  are  not  actu- 
ated by  such  small  motives  as  I  am." 

I  told  her  that  it  had  been  my  nature, 
ever  since  I  remembered  myself,  to  be  in 
earnest  in  what  I  did.  Success  could  not 
be  attained  without  earnestness,  I  said ; 
and  such  a  spirit  was  not  thrown  away 
even  when  exhibited  in  the  smallest  matters. 
The  old  lady  was  pleased  with  my  conver- 
sation, and  asked  me  to  bring  the  written 
quotations  to  her  house  the  tbllowing  day. 
She  then  introduced  me  to  her  niece. 

Bear  with  me  for  a  little  while.  AVhen 
I  commenced,  I  intended  to  be  more  brief, 
but  1  have  been  carried  away  by  a  tide  of 


LOVE'S   SACRIFICE. 


193 


memories.  These  things  that  T  have  spo- 
ken of  have  dwelt  in  my  mind,  but  mention 
of  them  has  not  passed  my  tongue;  not 
even  my  daughter  has  ever  heard  from  me 
the  story  of  my  Ufe.  All  the  memories 
that  are  dearest  to  me  are  stirred  into  life 
by  my  speech;  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
darkness  in  this  room,  where  nothing  hiiniau 
exists  but  ourselves,  I  see  my  wile  as  I  saw 
her  that  night  for  the  first  time  —  as  I  shall 
see  lier  soon  in  a  better  land. 

Good  and  evil,  eonseiously  wrought,  are 
not  of  this  world  alone ;  mind  you  that, 
Joshua  Marvel.  They  bear  their  fruit 
hereafter.  In  what  way  or  in  what  shape 
we  do  not  know  —  but  they  bear  their  fruit. 
I  never  loved  but  one  woman  in  my  life, 
and  never  was  false  to  Iier,  even  in  thought. 
I  never  harbored  an  unworthy  sentiment 
towards  lier.  1  loved  her  trul}',  purely, 
solely,  as  she  loved  me.  If  I  had  done  her 
wrong,  and,  loving  her,  had  played  false 
with  another  by  a  single  act,  by  a  single 
word  of  encouragement,  even  if  it  were 
weakly  given  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  I 
could  not  look  into  this  darkness  as  I  do 
now  without  fear  and  shuddering. 

(What  was  it  that  passed  into  the  room  ? 
The  deep  darkness  that  prevailed,  no  less 
tlian  the  intense  interest  with  which  Joshua 
followed  the  course  of  Basil's  story,  prevent- 
ed him  from  seeing.  Yet  it  was  no  less 
''certain  that  the  door  was  gently  opened, 
and  that  a  person  with  noiseless  Ibotfall 
entered  the  room,  and,  wrapped  in  shade, 
stood  silent  in  listening  attitude.) 

She  loved  me,  and  sacrificed  herself  for 
me.  Loving  me,  she  conceived  it  to  be 
her  duty  to  follow  me  ;  she  forsook  friends 
and  family,  and  imperilled  her  good  name 
forme;  and  in  this  solemn  moment,  when 
all  the  dearest  memories  of  my  life  give  life 
to  my  words,  life  to  my  thoughts,  I  bless 
her  for  it !  Her  devotion,  unworldly  as  it 
was,  was  sanctified  by  love.  There  is  no 
earthly  sacrifice  that  love  will  not  sanctify  ! 

(A  sound,  half  sigh,  half  sob,  floated  on 
the  air,  but  so  light  tliat  Joshua  doubted  if 
he  had  heard  it.  It  readied  Basil's  ears. 
Rising  in  bed,  lie  clutched  Joshua  by  the 
shoulder,  and  wliispered  in  trembling  tones, 
"  Can  spirits  speak,  and  make  themselves 
heard  ?     Did  you  hear  any  thing  V  " 

"  Something  like  a  sigh,  I  thought,"  said 
Joshua;  "and  yet  it  is  not  possible." 

Rising,  he  walked  to  the  door ;  but  who- 
ever it  was  that  had  entered  so  noiselessly 
had  so  departed. 

"  There  is  no  one  here ;  it  must  have 
been  fancy." 

Basil  sank  down  in  the  bed,  exhausted 


by  emotion,  and  it  was  long  before  he  re- 
sumed his  story.  During  the  silence,  Joshua 
thought  of  Ellen,  and  was  ha])py.  Such 
love  as  Basil  Kindreil  had  8pi)ken  of,  Ellen 
had  given  to  him.  "  But  she  will  not  have 
to  sacrifice  herself  for  me,"  he  thought; 
"hers  and  mine  will  be  a  happier  lot,  I 
hope."  Yet  Basil's  life  was  grand  and 
noble.  "  Like  a  great  stcjrm  at  sea,"  thought 
Joshua,  "  and  two  small  boats,  lashed  to- 
gether, contending  against  it  vainly."  His 
thoughts  were  interrupted  by  Basil's  voice.) 

I  need  not  describe  her.  Minnie  is  like 
her ;  but  she  was  more  beautiful  even  than 
Minnie.  I  went  to  the  aunt's  house,  and 
was  a  frequent  visitor  there.  Alice  and  I 
loved  each  other  from  the  fir,st.  How  I 
won  her  pure  heart,  I  do  not  know.  I  will 
not  say  I  was  unworthy  of  her ;  for  I  was 
animated  by  a  true  ambition,  and  I  was 
earnest  and  conscientious  in  all  I  did.  I  did 
not  decei\e  her;  I  told  her  exactly  what  I 
was,  what  I  had  suffered,  and  what  I  hoped 
to  gain.  She  paid  no  heed  to  worldly  mat- 
ters ;  she  loved  me,  and  that  was  enouo-h. 
She  sympathized  with  me  in  ray  ambition, 
and  said  it  was  a  noble  one.  Her  words 
were  like  wine  to  me  ;  they  strengthened 
and  encouraged  me.  During  the  last  week 
of  our  contemplated  stay  in  the  town  I  was 
stricken  down  by  rheumatic  fever,  and  was 
confined  to  my  bed  for  nearly  two  months. 
The  other  members  of  the  dramatic  com- 
pany waited  for  me  for  a  few  days,  hoping 
I  would  get  well ;  but  I  grew  worse,  and 
they  were  too  poor  to  remain  idle ;  so  they 
left  without  me,  and  I  was  alone  in  the 
place. 

I  was  delirious  for  a  long  time,  and  knew 
no  one  about  me.  How  well  I  remember  the 
day  when  consciousness  returned  !  I  opened 
my  eyes,  wondering  where  I  was,  and  what 
had  occurred  yesterday  to  cause  me  to  feel 
so  deliciously  weak ;  but  I  could  not  under- 
stand it,  and  I  lay  contented  and  hajipy,  as 
if  newly  born  into  a  world  of  peace  and 
blissful  repose.  But  as  I  lay  —  it  might 
have  been  for  a  few  moments  or  a  few  hours 
— •  a  soft  murmur  of  voices  fell  on  my  ear. 
I  did  not  turn  immediately  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound ;  I  was  content  to  lie  and 
listen  to  the  murmur,  and  had  no  desire  to 
analyze  it —  it  so  harmonized  with  my  con- 
dition —  there  was  such  a  sense  of  luxuri- 
ous ease  in  it :  it  was  like  the  soft  lapping 
of  the  sea  upon  a  shore  of  velvet  sand  1 
But  with  returning  consciousness,  my  mind 
was  gradually  aroused  into  activity ;  and 
in  the  whispering  of  voices,  a  familiar  note, 
sweeter  and  more  musical  than  the  rest, 
came  to  me.  Lazily  I  turned  my  head,  and 
saw  my  darling  Alice.  Our  eyes  met,  and 
it  Avas  like  a  flash  of  light.     I  understood 


104 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


in  that  instant  that  tshe  had  been  my  min- 
isteruig  an-gel  during  my  sickness.  A  look 
of  pity  and  love  was  in  her  eyes  as  I  turned 
to  her,  and  she  glided  to  my  side  and  took 
my  hand  in  hers. 

"  Alice  (hirling !  "  I  whispered.  My  voice 
was  ti'emulous  as  a  blade  of  grass  in  the 
summer  air. 

"  Dear  Basil !  "  she  said  in  re])]y. 

No  heavenly  happiness  can  be  greater 
than  that  wliich  entered  my  grateful  heart 
at  that  moment.  All  sense  of  sight  and  touch 
ami  hearinj;  —  all  heart  and  soul  and  mind 
—  were  merged  in  the  exquisite  belief  that 
iiiwrajiped  me  then  —  in  the  faidi  that  eou- 
SLituted  itself  a  part  of  me,  inseparable,  in- 
dissoluble, that  is  mine  through  all  time  — 
that  she  and  I  were  one  for  ever  and 
ever ! 

She  sat  with  me  until  my  landlady 
warned  her  that  it  was  time  to  go.  When 
she  was  gone,  I  learned  that  not  a  day  had 
passed  since  my  sickness  that  she  had  not 
come  to  see  me. 

"  Alone?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  alone,"  my  landlady  said,  adding 
that  she  had  not  spoken  to  any  one  of  the 
young  lady's  visits,  as  they  might  have 
been  misconstrued. 

The  signilieant  tone  in  which  she  said 
this  caused  me  to  reflect  that  Alice's  visits, 
if  discovered,  would  expose  her  to  the 
world's  censure,  and  I  begged  my  landlady 
to  preserve  silence  upon  the  subject. 

1  will  not  linger  upon  this  part  of  my 
story.  Alice's  visits  Avere  discovered ;  and 
one  day,  when  1  was  nearly  well,  and  when 
I  was  sitting  by  the  window  waiting  for  her 
beloved  presence,  I  received  a  visit  Irom 
her  aunt. 

I  saw  the  unpleasant  news  in  her  face 
directly  she  entered  the  room.  She  com- 
menced by  saying  she  was  glad  to  see  I 
was  nearly  well,  and  that  she  trusted  I 
would  not  take  advantage  of  a  young  girl's 
indiscretion. 

"  It  was  by  the  merest  accident  I  discov- 
ered that  my  niece  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
coming  to  see  you  every  day,"  said  the  old 
lady ;  "  and  she  has  been  very  rash  and  in- 
discreet; you  must  see  that,  I'm  sure." 

I  did  not  see  it,  and  I  uAd  her  so. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  lady  ; 
"  you  are  a  man,  and  you  know  the  ways 
of  the  world  and  its  judgment.  As  a  man 
of  honor,  you  must  not  encourtxge  my  niece 
in  her  lolly." 

"  Is  it  a  folly  to  love  ?  "  I  asked. 

But  the  old  lady  would  not  listen  to  ar- 
gument, and  she  demanded  my  promise 
that  I  would  not  see  my  darling  again. 

Firmly  I  refused  to  give  it,  unless  Alice 
asked  me  to  do  so.  We  were  pledged  to 
each  other,  I  said,  and  it  was  out  of  my 


power  to   break    the   engagement,   unless 
Alice  witched  it  broken. 

The  old  lady  was  terrified  by  my  firm- 
ness ;  and  when  she  asked  me  what  I  meant 
to  do,  and  I  told  her  that  I  meant  to  marry 
her  niece,  she  exclaimed  aghast, — 

'•  Marry  her  !  and  you  an  actor  1  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  an  actor,"  I  answered 
proudly. 

She  kept  with  me  for  more  than  an  hour, 
begging  .and  eiitreaang  ;  but  she  could  not 
move  me.  I  was  contending  ibr  what  was 
dearer  to  me  than  life,  and  an  old  woman's 
worldly  arguments  could  not  make  me  false 
to  myself  and  to  my  love.  She  tempted 
me  too  —  offered  me  money  to  leave  the 
town.  After  that,  I  was  silent;  I  would 
speak  to  her  no  more  upon  the  subject. 
When  she  had  exhausted  herself,  and  rose 
to  go,  I  opened  the  door  for  her;  and  be- 
fore she  went  out,  I  thanked  her  lor  her 
hos[)itality  to  me,  and  expressed  my  regret 
that  I  should  have  been  the  means  of  caus- 
ing her  pain.  She  made  no  reply ;  but  I 
fancied  I  saw  a  pitying  expression  on  her 
face  as  she  j^assed  out. 

I  was  overwhelmed  by  despair,  and  might 
have  been  guilty  of  1  don't  know  what 
extravagance,  had  not  my  darling  fore 
seen  my  misery,  and  provided  against  it. 
Within  an  hour  of  the  departure  of  Alice's 
aunt,  a  note  was  given  to  me  by  my  land- 
lady. It  was  from  my  darling  herself. 
She  knew  her  aunt's  errand  ;  she  knew  that 
I  was  true  to  her ;  and  she  told  me  not  to 
lose  heart,  for  she  was  mine,  and  mine 
only,  and  would  be  true  to  me  till  death. 
Truly,  ihose  words  were  like  oil  upon  the 
troubled  waters ;  my  mind  was  instantly 
composed,  and  a  deep  ])eace  and  joy  fell 
upon  me.  The  last  words  of  her  little  note 
were  to  the  effect  that  she  would  find 
means  to  write  to  me  again  soon  ;  and  she 
begged  me  not  to  go  away  until  she  saw 
me. 

So  I  waited,  and  grew  strong  ;  and  time 
passed,  until  there  came  an  evening  when 
we  met  —  met  never  to  part  again.  It  was 
a  solemn  meeting ;  there  was  no  hesitation 
on  one  side,  or  entreaty  on  the  other.  We 
walkeel  up  and  down  in  tlie  rear  of  a  wood- 
side  inn  ;  and  my  landlady,  whom  I  had 
asked  to  accompany  me,  stood  a  little  dis- 
tance from  us.  My  darling  told  me  that 
her  family  were  about  to  take  her  to  the 
Continent,  and  that  she  saw  no  way  of  re- 
sist ing.  "  There  is  one,"  I  said.  And  as  I 
said  this,  I  stood  by  the  side  of  an  old  elm, 
and  she  stood  with  droo])ing  head  before 
me.  "  There  is  one.  We  are  pledged  to 
each  other  till  death.  If  I  parted  from  you 
now  in  the  belief  that  we  should  not  meet 
again,  I  would  pray  to  God  to  end  my  life 
here  where  I  stand." 


LOVE'S   SACRIFICE. 


105 


"  Tell  mo  what  T  shall  do,"  she  answered, 
"and  I  will  do  it." 

"  Follow  me,"  I  said.  "  Share  my  life, 
hard  thoii'j;h  it  may  be.  Be  mine,  as  I  am 
yours.  Let  us  walk  together  till  death, 
and  after  it." 

She  placed  her  hand  in  mine,  and  an- 
swered me  in  the  words  of  R(Uh,  and  I 
folded  her  to  my  breast,  and  kissed  her. 

So,  accompanied  by  my  landlady,  we 
turned  our  backs  to  the  town  where  we 
first  met,  and  the  next  day  we  were 
married. 

Ah,  how  happy  we  were,  and  how  our 
lives  seemed  spread  before  us  like  a  bright 
holiday,  which  was  to  be  spent  in  a  land 
where  the  air  was  always  sweet  —  where 
the  flowers  were  alwa^-s  blootning !  No 
thought  of  winter ;  but  it  came,  with  its 
frost  and  snow,  and  racked  me  with  a  re- 
newal of  the  old  pains.  I  conl  1  have  borne 
them  cheerfully,  if  they  had  not  sometimes 
jjrevented  me  from  working.  We  I'ell  into 
poverty  ;  and  through  all  its  bitterness  she 
never  complained,  and  never  gave  me  one 
word  of  reproach.  Nay,  often  and  often, 
when  she  saw  that  ny  sufferings  were  in- 
creased by  the  thought  that  I  had  asked 
her  to  share  my  poor  life,  she  comforted 
me  and  clieered  me  with  tender  speech, 
that  fell  like  balm  upon  my  soul.  I  strug- 
gled on  in  my  profession,  gaining  a])plause 
always,  but  never  seeming  to  mount  a  step 
nearer  to  the  goal  where  fame  and  fortune 
stood  ])eckoning  me.  My  wife  had  written 
to  her  flimily  without  my  knowledge  ;  but 
not  one  of  them  replied  except  her  good 
aunt,  who  sent  her  a  small  sum  of  money. 
When  Minnie  was  born  she  wrote  again, 
but  the  old  lady  was  dead.  Still,  somehow 
we  managed  :  om-  wants  were  small,  and 
our  happiness  was  perfect.  We  had  to 
travel  about  a  groat  deal ;  and  when  we 
had  not  sufficient  money  to  pay  our  coach- 
fares,  Ave  walked,  and  made  the  way  light 
for  each  other  by  cheering  words.  Many 
scores  of  miles  have  I  —  the  great  trage- 
dian, as  they  called  me  in  the  bills  —  car- 
ried our  little  Minnie  in  my  arms,  lulling 
her  to  sleep,  or  pointing  out  to  her  the 
beauties  of  nature,  as  they  peeped  at  us  out 
of  hedgerows,  or  as  they  sprang  up  in  the 
gardens  of  great  mansions,  where  they 
were  not  hidden  by  grim  walls,  as  if 
then*  owners  were  jealous  lest  the  poor 
toilers  on  the  road  should  enjoy  their  lovely 
forms  and  colors.  Now  and  then  we  got 
a  lift  on  a  wagon,  and  the  music  of  the 
bells  on  the  hoi-ses'  necks  often  lulled  IVIin- 
aie  to  sleep.  We  seldom  staid  in  one 
place  longer  than  a  fortnight ;  but  once  we 
stopped  in  a  town  for  nearly  fom-  months, 
playing  thi'ee  nights  a  week.  That  was  a 
happy  time.     I  used  to  come  home  from 


the  theatre  when  my  work  was  done,  and 
Alice  anil  I  would  sit  in  olu*  humble  lodg- 
ings until  late  in  the  night,  talkiu'i  of  such 
matters  as  were  nearest  to  oiu-  hearts ; 
])ainting  the  future  in  bright  colors,  and 
wH'aving  fancies  ab(jut  our  Minnie,  who 
would  sometimes  be  lying  awake  on  her 
THOther's  lap,  and  whose  little  lingers  would 
clasp  one  of  mim;  as  the  ivy  clasps  the  oak. 
We  maile  many  I'riends  —  i'alse  friends  most 
of  them,  atti'acted  by  my  wife's  beauty  — 
friends  whose  speech  was  fiiir,  but  whose 
thoughts  were  treacherous.  But  rocks  on 
which  many  a  woman's  good  name  and 
happiness  have  been  wrecked  melted  like 
snow  before  my  wife's  purity.  And  still 
we  struggled  on,  hoping  against  hope,  until 
there  came  a  time  whicli  cast  a  shadow  on 
me  never  to  be  removed  except  liy  death. 
It  was  in  the  autumn  of  the  year.  My 
wife  had  been  ill,  and  I  had  to  nurse  her 
and  carry  her  about,  and  study  and  work, 
while  my  heart  was  almost  breaking ;  for 
the  doctors  had  told  me  she  recpured  wine 
and  nourishing  food,  and  I  was  earning 
barely  sufficient  to  pay  for  the  commonest 
necessaries.  One  night  when  I  left  the 
theatre,  the  rain  was  pouring  down  like 
a  second  deluge.  I  had  been  playing 
the  principal  parts  in  tragedy  and  com- 
edy, and  I  came  into  the  street  hot  and 
flushed  with  my  exertions.  It  was  the  last 
night  I  ever  played.  The  rain  soaked  me 
to  the  skin  ;  but  I  took  no  heed  of  that ;  I 
was  too  anxious  to  reach  home.  I  crept 
into  our  one  room,  and  found  my  wife 
asleep.  I  sat  Ijy  her  side;  and  looked  at  her 
pale  face,  and  recalled  the  past.  I  saw  her 
as  she  had  been  five  years  before,  a  bright 
and  beautiful  girl ;  and  as  she  was  now, 
pale  and  wan  as  a  ghost.  I  heard  her 
whisper,  "Until  death,  Basil — until 
death  !  "  I  threw  myself  on  my  knees  by 
the  bedside,  and  hid  my  face  on  the  bed  in 
utter  prostration ;  and  while  I  knelt,  my 
body  turned  cold  as  ice,  then  hot  as  fire, 
and  a  feeling  like  the  feeling  of  death  came 
upon  me.  '•  Is  it  death  ?  "  I  asked  myself; 
and  I  almost  rejoiced  at  the  thought  that 
we  might  pass  away  together.  When  I 
raised  my  head,  the  room  seemed  to  be 
thronged  with  visible  fancies.  The  light 
and  brilliancy  of  the  theatre;  the  dark 
night  with  its  down-pour  of  rain  ;  Alice  as 
she  was  when  I  first  met  her ;  my  father's 
study,  and  he  and  I  looking  defiantly  at 
each  other ;  all  these  pictures,  and  many 
others,  were  before  me,  and  for  a  moment 
seemed  to  be  in  harmony  with  each  other. 
Unutterable  confusion  among  them  fol- 
lowed ;  and  then  a  darkness  fell  upon  me. 
Weeks  passed  before  the  darkness  cleared 
away.  When  I  recovered  my  senses,  I 
found  my  patient  angel  nursing  me,  although 


106 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


she  was  scarcely  stronger  than  I  was.  But 
what  will  not  a  woman's  love  accomplish  '^ 
We  were  not  in  the  same  town  in  which  I 
had  fallen  sick.  She  had  removed  me  to  a 
village  some  twenty  miles  distant  from  my 
native  place.  I  did  not  discover  this  until 
I  was  able  to  rise  and  move  about.  I  was 
but  a  shadow  of  myself;  all  my  strength  had 
left  me,  and  I  was  like  a  child.  I  was  to 
discover  something  worse  than  that.  I  was 
to  discover  that  my  memory  was  gone,  and 
that,  although  I  could  repeat  snatches  of 
parts  I  had  played,  I  could  not,  study  as 
hard  as  I  would  —  and  I  tried  diligently 
dui-ing  my  convalescence  —  get  the  complete 
parts  into  my  head.  My  wife  helped  me 
—  looked  at  the  book  while  I  stumbled  on  — 
prompted  me,  encouraged  me,  bade  me  rest 
tor  a  day  and  try  again.  All  in  vain.  If  I 
was  rehearsing  the  scenes  in  "  Ilamlet," 
speeches  and  lines  uttered  by  Macbeth  and 
Lear,  interpolated  themselves,  and  I  grew 
hopelessly  confused. 

So,  then  —  my  occupation  was  gone  ;  my 
ambition  was  at  an  end.  The  knowledge 
would  have  been  bitter  enough  to  bear  had 
I  been  by  myself;  but  there  were  my  wife 
and  daughter,  my  darling  Minnie,  my  pa- 
tient suffering  Alice,  to  provide  for,  and  I 
in  debt,  without  a  penny  in  the  world,  and 
without  any  means  of  driving  white-faced 
hunger  from  my  dear  ones.  The  despairing 
coiniction  almost  brought  on  a  relapse,  and 
it  was  only  by  the  strongest  eilbrtof  will  that 
I  kept  my  senses.  But  I  could  not  get 
strong  ;  rheumatism  had  fastened  itself  too 
firmly  in  my  bones,  and  would  not  be  driven 
away ;  and  I  was  afflicted  with  distressful 
shudderings  and  with  feverish  attacks,  dur- 
ing which  I  knew  no  one  about  me.  Winter 
was  coming  on  fast.  Every  atom  of  cloth- 
ing that  could  be  spared  had  been  sold  by 
my  wife  ;  what  she  must  have  suffered,  dear 
angel !  can  never  be  told.  Was  it  my  self- 
ishness or  blindness  that  prevented  me  from 
seeing  death  written  in  her  face  V  I  did  not 
see  it  —  I  did  not  suspect  it  —  until  the  time 
when  her  cold  body  lay  before  me.  She 
sutFered  —  yes;  she  could  not  disguise  that 
from  me  ;  but  the  pleasant  smile  and  the 
cheerful  look  of  content  and  hope  with  which 
she  always  answered  my  wistful  gaze, 
blinded  uie  to  her  condition  and  to  the  ex- 
tent of  her  sufferings.  I  did  not  ask  her  why 
she  had  brought  me  to  the  village  —  I 
guessed  that  it  was  because  I  had  known  it 
in  my  happier  days,  and  because  it  might 
induce  me  to  think  of  my  father,  and  of  the 
advisability  of  asking  help  from  him.  She 
did  not  say  a  word  upon  the  subject.  She 
knew  the  story  of  my  boyish  life,  and  was 
content  that  I  should  do  as  I  thought  best. 
But  she  was  a  mother  as  well  as  a  wife,  and 
she  deemed  it  to  be  her  duty  to  bring  me 


where,  if  I  so  pleased,  T  might  possibly  ob- 
tain assistance.  I  thought  over  it.  and,  bit- 
ter as  it  was,  I  saw  that  my  duty  lay  clear 
before  me.  I  would  sacrifice  my  pride  and 
htimble  myself  to  my  father.  And  yet  I 
hesitated  —  hesitated  until  one  morning  my 
wife  came  into  the  rooili  looking  so  strange 
that  I  passed  my  hand  before  my  eyes, 
wondering  if  I  were  awake. 

"  Alice  I  "  I  cried. 

She  came  to  my  side  with  a  cheerful  look. 
Her  beautiful  hair,  that  had  hung  down  to 
her  waist  was  gone.  I  took  her  upon  my 
knee,  and  folded  her  in  my  arms,  and  sob- 
bed like  a  little  child.  She  soothed  and 
comforted  me. 

"  It  will  grow  again,"  she  said,  knowing 
but  too  well  that  before  that  time  came  she 
would  be  beneath  the  daisies.  "  The  land- 
lady wanted  money,  and  every  thing  was 
sold  but  that.     See,  I  can  pay  her." 

"  All  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  not  all,"  she  said  cheerfully  ;  "  but 
perhaps  some  good  fortune  will  come  to  us." 

That  morning  I  wrote  to  my  father.  I  told 
him  that  I  was  married  to  a  gentlewoman, 
noble,  good,  and  pure,  that  we  had  a  child, 
and  that  I  was  ill  and  in  want.  But  no 
answer  came.  I  wrote  again,  begging  him 
to  reply  and  to  assist  us.  Still  no  answer. 
And  meanwhile  my  wife  was  lading  before 
my  eyes,  and  our  landlady  clamored  for 
what  was  due  to  her.  Oh,  if  I  could  have 
sold  my  blood  fbr  money,  I  would  have  done 
it,  wdien  I  heard  her  coarse  tongue  revile 
my  wife  !     I  tottered  into  the  passage. 

"  Woman  !  "  I  cried,  "  you  shall  be  paid. 
I  will  go  and  get  money." 

"  Where  ? "  asked  my  wife  in  a  faint 
voice. 

"  At  my  father's,"  I  answered.  "  Come, 
we  will  go  and  lay  our  sorrows  at  his  feet." 

I  took  Minnie  in  my  arms,  and  we 
started  in  the  direction  of  my  native  town. 
It  was  not  until  we  had  walked  four  or  five 
miles  that  we  discovered  how  weak  we 
were.  We  were  penniless  and  hungry,  and 
Minnie  was  crying  fbr  food.  I  went  into 
a  pul)lic-house,  and  begged  for  some.  I 
was  turned  out  without  ceremony ;  but  a 
common  woman,  who  was  di'inking  with  a 
tinker,  ran  alter  me  —  God  bless  her  for  it ! 
—  and  put  a  biscuit  into  Minnie's  hand. 
We  struggled  on.  A  mile  nearer.  My 
wife  grew  white  in  the  face,  and  her  lips 
were  black.  And  as  I  looked  at  her,  there 
came  by  her  side  the  image  of  what  she 
was,  ruddy,  bright-eyed,  rosy-lipped.  I 
saw  it,  I  tell  you.  The  impalpable  shape 
of  the  beautiful  girl,  radiant  with  health, 
walked  with  light  step  by  the  side  of  the 
careworn  haggard-fiteed  woman.  I  must 
have  been  crazed.  She  saw  in  my  face 
the  disturbed  condition  of  my  mind. 


LOVE'S  SACRIFICE. 


107 


"  Courage  1  "  she  whispered,  taking  my 
arm. 

I  laughed,  and  looked  around.  Fortu- 
nately, no  one  was  near  us,  or  I  should 
have  robbed  him  —  weak  as  I  was,  despair 
woiild  have  given  me  strength.  I  have 
asked  myself  since,  if  it  would  have  been 
a  crime,  and  have  not  found  the  answer. 
Ten  miles  were  com[)asscd  when  a  stoi-m 
came  on  —  a  dreadl'ul  ])itik'ss  storm,  in 
which  the  slanting  wall  of  rain  before  us 
seemed  to  shut  out  hope.  We  toiled 
through  it,  fainting  from  weariness  and 
hunger ;  we  toiled  through  it,  until  I  fell 
prone  to  the  earth.  My  wife  knelt  by  me 
in  the  wet  grass,  and  implored  me  to  make 
another  effort  for  her  sake,  tor  our  child's. 
I  tried  to  rise,  but  could  not.  All  that  I 
could  do  was  to  drag  myself  to  a  clump  of 
trees,  where  I  lay  exhausted.  Every  word 
that  passed  between  us  irom  that  time  is 
too  deeply  engraven  on  my  mind  ever  to 
be  forgotten. 

"  Wife,"  I  said,  "  the  struggle  is  over. 
Kiss  me  and  forgive  me." 

In  the  midst  of  her  agony,  a  sweet  smile 
irradiated  her  face.  I  could  not  see  it, 
but  I  knew  it  was  there  by  her  voice. 

"  Forgive  you,  husband  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  kissed  me.  "  We  have  nothing  to 
forgive  each  other.  Pity  and  love  are  all 
that  I  feel  now.  Love  for  you  and  our 
darling  Minnie,"  —  and  she  placed  our  lit- 
tle darling's  hand  on  my  aching  eyes  — 
"  and  i^ity  for  your  great  suS'erings." 

Not  a  word  of  herself!  Her  pure  un- 
selfish nature  was  triumphant  over  all. 
As  surely  as  we  have  hands  to  feel  and 
eyes  to  see,  such  love  as  hers  is  heaven- 
born,  and  dies  not  with  the  flesh  ! 

"  Rest  here,"  she  said,  jjlacing  our  child 
in  my  arms.  "  I  will  go  and  seek  help. 
Keep  up  your  heart  while  I  am  gone." 

I  had  no  power  to  stop  her,  and  she  left 
me  and  was  lost  in  the  gloom.  Hours 
must  have  passed,  though  it  was  night  when 
I  awoke.  I  had  fallen  Into  sleep,  and  in 
my  dreams  all  the  circumstances  of  my  life 
played  their  miserable  parts ;  from  the 
dawn  of  my  ambition  down  to  the  words 
of  my  wife,  "  I  will  go  and  seek  help. 
Keep  up  your  heart  while  I  am  gone." 
When  those  words  were  uttered,  I  followed 
my  wife,  in  my  dream,  as  she  stumbled  on 
through  the  darkness.  Suddenly  I  lost 
her;  then  a  whisper  of  pain  stole  upon 
me,  and  I  heard  her  murmur,  "  Come  to 
me,  Basil ;  I  am  dying.  A  strength  born 
of  fear  enabled  me  to  rise  shuddering  to 
my  feet.  "  Alice  !  "  I  cried.  No  voice 
answered  me,  but  I  still  seemed  to  hear 
the  echo  of  the  words,  "  Come  to  me,  Basil ; 
I  am  dying."  With  iMinnie  in  my  arms,  I 
followed     the     sound.      Some     wonderful 


chance  directed  my  steps  ariglit.  How  far 
I  walkeil,  I  do  not  know.  The  rain  was 
still  falling,  but  there  was  a  glimmering 
light  in  the  sky  to  guide  me.  The  trees, 
past  which  I  crept  painfully  and  wearily, 
were  bare  of  leaves  ;  their  naked  branches 
were  emblematical  of  the  desolation  of  my 
heart.  I  crept  onward  until  I  came  to  a 
spot  where  I  saw  a  form  lying  on  the 
ground.  No  need  to  tell  me  whose  form 
it  was  that  I  saw  before  me.  No  sound 
came  from  the  lips,  no  sign  of  life  was  ob- 
servable in  the  limbs.  The  ghostly  echo 
of  the  cry,  "  Come  to  me,  Basil ;  I  am  dy- 
ing I  "  died  away  upon  the  wind  as  I  fell 
by  the  side  of  my  darling,  who  had  sacri- 
ficed her  life  for  me.  I  raised  her  head 
on  my  lap,  and  looked  into  her  white  face. 
The  eyelids  quivered,  opened;  a  look  of 
joy  leaped  into  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling  !  "  I  wailed ; 
"wait  for  me." 

I  inclined  my  head  to  her  lips,  for  they 
were  moving. 

"  I  will  wait  for  you,  Basil.  There  !  " 
And  she  looked  up  to  heaven,  while  the 
cruel  rain  jjoured  down  upon  her  face. 

I  placed  Minnie's  lips  to  hers,  and  the 
child  clasped  her  little  arms  round  her 
mother's  neck. 

"  Live,  Basil,"  she  said  slowly  and  pain- 
fully, "  live  for  her.  No,  no  !  "  fearing  that 
I  was  going  from  her,  "  do  not  leave  me 
yet  I  " 

Her  fingers  tightened  on  mine,  and  she 
closed  her  eyes.  I  leaned  over  her  to  pro- 
tect her  from  the  rain.  In  that  supreme 
moment  of  sacrifice  a  smile  rested  on  her 
lips. 

■•'  Till  death,  and  after  it,  Basil,  my  love  1 " 
she  whispered. 

And  her  soul  passed  away  into  the  win- 
try night. 

"  You  are  crying,"  said  Basil  Kindred, 
after  a  long  pause.  "  My  story  has  touched 
your  heart.  I  have  told  it  to  you  for  the 
purpose  of  opening  your  eyes  to  Minnie's 
nature.  She  is  like  her  mother,  without 
her  mother's  teaching.  She  is  a  wild  flower ; 
the  impulse  of  her  mind  is  under  the  control 
of  the  impulse  of  her  heart.  She  is  oblivi- 
ous of  all  else,  defiant  of  all  else.  Those  of 
her  friends  who  have  the  consciousness  of 
a  higher  wisdom  than  she  possesses  —  those 
of  them  who  can  recognize  that  the  prompt;- 
ings  of  such  a  heart  as  hers  may  possibly 
lead  her  into  dangerous  paths  —  must  guide 
her  gently;  tenderly.  If  any  betray  her, 
he  will  have  to  answer  for  it  at  the  Judg- 
ment-seat. Joshua,  you  said  to  me,  when 
you  entered  this  room,  that  you  had  not 
forgotten  the  blessing  I  gave  you  on  the 
first  day  of  our  meeting.    1  repeat  that  bless- 


108 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


in^.  In  all  your  actions  that  deserve  bless- 
ings and  prosperity,  I  say,  God  bless  and 
prosper  you,  Joshua  Marvel  !  Now  leave 
me." 

Joshua's  face  was  wet  with  tears,  and  his 
heart  was  throbbing  with  sympathy  for 
Basil  as  Ik;  walked  down  stairs.  In  the  pas- 
sage lie  heard  a  footfall  that  he  knew  to  be 
]VIinnie's.     It  was  too  dark  to  see  her  face. 

"  Is  that  you,  Minnie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Joshua,"  she  answered,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  You  have  been  sitting  with  father." 
■  "  1  es. 

"  I  have  been  wishing  to  speak  to  you, 
and  I  was  alraid  I  might  not  get  the  oppor- 
tunity, for  lather  is  very  strange  to  me. 
When  does  your  shi]*  sail,  Joshua?  " 

''  In  a  very  few  days,  Minnie." 

"  I  should  so  much  like  to  see  it,  if  there 
was  no  harm  in  my  coming." 

"  What  harm  can  there  be,  Minnie  ?  " 
exclaimed  Joshua.  "  Come  to-morrow  to 
the  docks  at  twelve  o'clock  when  the  men 
are  at  their  dinner.  Bring  Ellen  or  Susan 
with  you,  and  ask  for  the  '•  Merry  Andrew," 
and  I  will  show  you  over  it." 

"  Thank  }0u,  Joshua.     Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  Minnie." 

As  their  hands  met,  Susan,  carrying  a 
light,  came  from  the  kitchen.  Joshua  did 
not  wish' Susan  to  see  the  tears  on  his  face, 
and  he  turned  hastily  away  as  she  ap- 
proached. But  she  did  not  appear  to  no- 
tice either  him  or  Minnie,  as  she  passed  to 
the  upper  part  of  the  house  ;  and  the  next 
moment  INIinuie  glided  away,  and  Joshua 
entered  the  room  where  Dan  and  Ellen 
were  sitting. 

The  following  day  Joshua,  lookiucr  over 
the  bulwarks  of  the  "  Merry  Andrew,"  saw 
Minnie  standing  in  bewilderment  amidst 
the  busy  life  and  the  confusion  of  bales  and 
cases  on  the  wharf.  He  was  surprised  to 
find  that  she  was  alone.  He  hastened  to 
her  side,  and  asked  her  why  Ellen  or  Susan 
had  not  come  with  her,  and  received  lor  re- 
ply that  she  had  thought  they  were  both 
too  busy,  and  had  not  liked  to  ask  them. 

"  But  you  don't  mind  my  coming  by  my- 
self, Joshua,  do  you  ?  "  she  said,  looking 
into  his  fiice. 

'■  No,"  he  said,  returning  her  gaze.  Her 
eyes  were  sparkling  with  youth  and  health, 
and  her  cheeks  had  a  bright  color  in  them 
from  the  brisk  walk  she  had  taken  in  the 
crisp  air.  "  But  I  would  have  preferred 
your  not  coming  alone." 

"  I  will  go  back  rather  than  offend  you." 

"  OU'end  me  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  are 
a  stupid  to  talk  of  offending  me.  And  as 
for  going  back,  that  would  be  sheer  non- 
sense now  you  have  taken  the  trouble  to 
come." 


It  was  impossible  to  look  at  her  without 
pleasure  ;  she  was  as  beautiful  as  the  spring. 
A  good  many  of  the  sailors  turned  to  take 
another  peep  at  her,  and  thought  what  a 
lucky  fellow  tiie  third  mate  of  the  "  Merry 
Andrew  "  was  to  have  such  a  lass  as  that  to 
come  and  see  him.  But  he  was  in  luck's 
way  right  round,  they  said  to  each  other  as 
they  walked  along.  Joshua,  not  wishing  to 
submit  Minnie  to  their  prying  looks  —  al- 
though, being  human,  he  was  proud  of  them 
a  little  bit,  it  must  be  confessed  —  took  her 
hand  to  lead  her  up  the  gangway.  It  was 
not  easy  for  Minnie  to  get  aboard,  and 
Joshua  had  almost  to  carry  her. 

"  How  strong  you  are,"  she  said,  "  to  be 
able  to  carry  a  big  girl  like  me  !  And  this 
is  your  ship.'' 

"  It  is  lumbered  up  at  present,  IVIinnie," 
lie  said  ;  "  but  when  we  are  at  sea,  and  the 
decks  are  cleared,  and  the  sails  are  set,  and 
we  are  tlying  along  before  a  fair  wind,  it  is 
a  little  better  than  this,  I  can  tell  you.  I 
can  smell  the  sweet  spray  now,  as  it  comes 
dashing  up."  His  nostrils  dilated  at  the 
mere  thought  of  the  ocean,  and  involunta- 
rily he  passed  his  hand  before  his  eyes, 
clearing  away  imaginary  spray. 

"  How  beautiful  it  must  be  !  "  exclaimed 
Minnie. 

Joshua  abated  a  httle  of  his  enthusiasm. 
"  It's  all  very  well  in  fine  weather,  Avhen 
the  wind  and  sea  are  kind  ;  but  you  would 
be  frightened  at  storms." 

"  Not  if  you  were  on  the  ship,  Joshua," 
she  said  dreaniingly,  but  in  so  soft  and  low 
a  voice  that  he  did  not  catch  the  words; 
yet  he  looked  at  her  keenly ;  but  she  did 
not  notice  his  gaze,  for  she  was  wrapped  in 
thought,  and  her  eyes  were  tm-ned  from 
him.  So  still  did  she  stand,  that  Joshua 
touched  her  sleeve  to  attract  her  attention. 
She  started,  as  if  he  had  aroused  her  from 
sleep,  and  then  they  went  over  the  shij)  to- 
gether. She  was  very  anxious  to  see  every 
thing,  and  they  had  a  busy  half-hour.  The 
last  part  of  the  ship  they  went  into  was  the 
saloon. 

"  Captain  Liddle  has  been  very  particu- 
lar about  the  saloon,"  Joshua  said,  "  for  his 
wife  is  coming  with  us  this  voyage.  Here 
are  their  cabins  —  one  for  the  captain  and 
his  wife,  and  this  httle  one  adjoining  lor 
her  maid." 

INlinnie  peeped  into  the  cabins,  and  won- 
dered how  ladies  could  live  in  such  a  dark 
place.  Joshua  had  to  explain  that  the  cab- 
ins were  dark  because  the  ship  was  in  dock, 
and  that  when  they  got  out  at  sea  there 
was  light  enough  for  any  thing.  Then  they 
ascended  to  the  deck  aiain,  and  Minnie 
thanked  Joshua  and  prepared  to  go.  Just 
at  that  moment  Joshua  saw  —  or  fancied 
he   saw  —  Susan    standinii   on    the  wharf. 


NEVER  TO   RETURN. 


109 


She  was  standin^T  quite  still,  and  lier  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  poop  of  the  "  Merry  An- 
drew." 

"  Why,  there's  Susan  I  "  he  exclaimed ; 
and,  leaving  Minnie  on  deck,  he  hurried 
down  the  gangway.  But  the  woman  was 
gone,  and  he  could  find  no  trace  ot"  her. 
He  returned  to  Minnie  in  a  state  of  per- 
plexity. 

"I  thought  I  saw  Susan  on  the  wharf," 
he  said. 

"  You  must  have  been  mistaken,  Josliua," 
said  Minnie  ;  "  she  was  hard  at  work  at 
home  when  I  left.  If  it  had  been  Susan, 
she  would  not  have  gone  away  when  you 
went  towards  her." 

"  I  sup])ose  I  must  have  been  mistaken. 
Good-morning,  Minnie  ;  take  care  of  your- 
self going  home." 

He  led  her  down  the  gangway,  and 
Minnie  made  her  way,  like  a  gleam  of  sun- 
shine among  the  throng  of  rough  working- 
men,  who  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass,  and 
sent  admiring  looks  after  her.  During  his 
work  that  afternoon  Joshua  thought  nmch 
of  her,  and  of  her  father's  anxiety  concern- 
ing her.  "  Mr.  Kindred  is  right,"  he 
thought.  "  Minnie  requires  gentle  tender 
guidance ;  such  guidance  as  Dan  can  give 
her,  and  will  have  the  right  to  do  soon,  I 
I  hope.  She  can  have  no  better  teacher, 
wiser  counsellor,  than  Dan  !  " 

So  he  mused  and  worked,  and  saw  no 
signs  of  the  dark  clouds  that  were  gathering 
about  him. 


.     CHAPTER  XXn. 

NEVER     TO     RETURN. 

Could  a  map  be  made  of  the  mental  life 
of  a  man  whose  career  has  been  marked  by 
the  commonest  of  commonplace  incidents, 
and  from  that  map  a  tale  were  woven,  it 
would  transcend  in  interest  the  most  event- 
ful story  that  can  be  found  in  the  wonder- 
world  of  fiction.  Space,  matter,  and  all 
the  abstract  relations  of  the  Great  System, 
affect  the  meanest  order  of  mind,  and  pro- 
duce the  strangest  of  contrasts  between  the 
outer  and  inner  life  of  men.  Not  more 
strange  perhaps,  but  certainly  more  beauti- 
ful, are  the  contrasts  presented  in  men  of  a 
liigh  order  of  intelligence.  As  in  the  case 
of  Dan.  Quiet  as  were  the  grooves  in 
which  his  material  life  moved,  compassed 
as  it  was  by  a  few  narrow  streets,  his  ideal 
life  was  a  romance.  It  glowed  with  poetic 
beauty,  and  was  filled  with  graceful  images, 
like  a  peaceful  lake  in  whose  wacers  are  re- 


_t^ 


fleeted  the  glorios  of  grand  sunsets  andy 
the  delicate  lines  ;nid  colors  of  uigh 
clouds  andoverliangiiig  trees.  Had  it  been 
Dan's  fiite  to  mix  with  the  world,  his  sensi- 
tive nature  would  have  rendered  him  the 
most  uidiappy  of  beings.  The  selfishness 
with  whicii  the  world  abounds,  and  with 
which  he  would  have  been  brought  in  con- 
tact, would  have  made  his  life  a  misery. 
Wishful  to  see  good  in  every  thing,  he  would 
have  seen  its  reverse  in  so  many  things, 
that  his  enduring  faith  in  the  jjurity  and 
goodness  of  those  upon  whom  he  fixed  his 
affections  might  have  been  weakened.  His 
friends  were  few,  but  all  his  heart  was 
theirs,  and  no  doubt  of  their  truth  found 
place  in  Ids  mind.  Not  to  suspect  belonged 
to  the  nobility  of  his  nature. 

Otherwise,  he  might  have  found  cause 
for  suspicion  in  what  was  occurring  around 
him.  Three  days  before  Joshua's  final  de- 
parture from  home,  Basil  Kindred  locked 
himself  in  his  room,  and  denied  himself  and 
Minnie  to  every  person  but  Susan.  She, 
and  she  only,  attended  to  his  wants,  and 
faithfully  obeyed  his  wishes.  To  all  in- 
quiries the  one  answer  received,  through 
Susan's  lips,  was,  that  he  was  too  ill  to  be 
seen,  and  that  he  required  the  constant  at- 
tendance of  his  daughter,  who  could  not 
leave  his  room.  Even  Mrs.  Marvel  could 
not  shake  his  resolution,  and  was  surprised 
to  find  that  Susan  encouraged  him,  and 
would  not  assist  her  in  her  kind  endeavors. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  Minnie,"  remonstrat- 
ed Mrs.  Marvel,  "  to  be  cooped-up  in  that 
room  all  day.  She  can  nurse  her  father  — 
it  is  only  right  she  should  —  but  her  health 
will  suffer  if  she  does  not  have  fresh  air." 

"  Mr.  Kindred  knows  what  is  best  for 
himself  and  Minnie,"  returned  Susan  in  a 
voice  that  trembled,  despite  her  efforts  to 
be  firm.  "  He  has  asked  me  to  nurse  him, 
and  to  keep  everybody  out  of  his  room  un- 
til he  is  better ;  and  I  mean  to  do  it.  If  I 
can't  do  it  here,  I  shall  take  him  away 
where  he  won't  be  disturbed." 

"  Let  me  go  up  and  see  him,"  persisted 
Mrs.  Marvel.  "  I  may  be  able  to  do  him 
some  good." 

"  You  can't  do  him  a  bit  of  good,"  re- 
plied Susan  uncompromisingly,"  and  he 
won't  let  anybody  but  me  go  into  his  room." 

'■  Sick  people  don't  always  know  what  is 
best  tor  them,  my  dear.  We  are  all  of  us 
very  much  distressed  and  anxious  about 
Minnie  and  her  flxther.  They  are  more 
than  friends  to  us,  and  perhaps  you  do  not 
guess  what  Minnie  is  to  " —  But  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel was  stopped  in  her  speech  by  a  fierce 
exclamation  from  Susan.  The  good  moth- 
er was  not  sorry  for  the  interruption  ; 
she  had  been  about  to  refer  to  Dan's  love 
for  ^Minnie,  which  her  delicau)  and  keea 


110 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


instinct  had  discovered,  and  the  thought 
came  to  her  that  perhaps  it  would  not  'be 
wise  to  speak  of  it.  Slie  was  not  the  less 
surprised  at  Susan's  agitation,  and  at  the 
frightened  look  Avhich  immediately  after- 
wards flashed  into  Susan's  eyes  —  a  look 
which  asked,  "  What  have  I  said  ?  Have 
I  betrayed  my  trust  ?  "  But  the  next  mo- 
ment Susan  resumed  her  determined  man- 
ner, and  no  entreaties  of  Mrs.  Marvel  could 
move  her.  When  Mrs.  Marvel  told  her 
husband  of  the  interview,  he  said  he  Avas 
sure  that  Basil  Kindred  was  not  right  in 
his  head,  and  that  the  best  thing  to  do 
would  be  to  let  the  sick  man  have  his  own 
way.  As  for  Susan,  Llr.  Marvel  said,  she 
was  always  strange  —  they  were  a  pair,  she 
and  Basil  Kindred. 

So  no  further  attempt  was  made  by  any 
of  them  to  see  Basil  Kindred  and  Minnie 
until  the  day  when  Joshua  was  going  to 
sea.  On  that  day  Joshua  went  to  Basil's 
room,  and  knocked.  Susan  came  out  of 
the  room  into  the  passage,  and  stood  with 
her  back  to  the  door. 

"  I  have  come  to  say  good-by,"  said 
Joshua ;  "  and  I  should  like  much  to  speak 
to  Minnie  and  Mr.  Kindred  before  I  leave. 
Go  in  Susey,  and  ask  him  to  see  me." 

Susan  returned  the  usual  answer,  but 
Joshua's  entreaties  caused  her  to  waver. 
She  re-entered  the  room,  and  Joshua  heard 
Basil's  voice  speaking  to  her.  Then  Susan 
came  out  again,  and  said,  — 

"  Mr.  Kindred  is  too  ill  to  see  you  —  he 
told  me  to  say  so." 

"  And  Minnie  ?  " 

"  Minnie  !  "  echoed  Susan  ;  and  then  in 
a  low  troubled  voice,  "  Minnie  is  asleep." 

Joshua  was  inexpressibly  pained. 

"  I  must  be  content,  I  suppose,"  he  said, 
sighing ;  "  but  I  am  deeply  grieved.  Some- 
thing seems  to  have  come  between  us  lately, 
and  1  shall  go  away  leaving  a  mystery  be- 
hind. I  wonder  sometimes  if  I  am  the 
cause  of  this  estrangement.  If  I  am,  I 
hope  all  will  be  set  right  when  I  am  out  of 
the  way." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Susan,  with  a  singu- 
larly earnest  look. 

"  You  hope  so !  Then  I  am  the  cause,  and 
you  believe  it.  Take  care,  Susan,  that 
you  are  not  assisting  in  bringing  unhappi- 
ness  among  us." 

"  It  is  tor  you  to  take  care,"  said  Susan, 
with  bitter  emphasis,  "  that  you  do  not  do 
so." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Joshua, 
in  amazement.  "  Tell  me.  I  have  a  right 
to  ask,  Susan,  for  you  will  one  day  be  my 
sister." 

Joshua  had  taken  her  hand  as  he  spoke, 
but  she  snatched  it  from  him  angrily. 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing  that  you  do  not 


know,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  If  I  am  to  be 
your  sister,  I  have  only  one  thing  to  say 
to  you." 

"  Well  ?  "  he  inquired,  in  an  offended  tone, 
for  he  was  angered  by  Susan's  manner. 

"  Be  true  to  Ellen,"  she  said,  with  quiver- 
ing lips  and  in  a  softer  voice. 

"  Is  that  your  fear  ? "  he  exclaimed  al- 
most gayly.  '■  Be  true  to  Ellen !  Why, 
Susey,  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul.  But  there  !  words  go  for  nothing. 
Time  will  show.  Bid  Minnie  and  Mr. 
Kindred  good-by  for  me,  and  say  I  was 
sorry  I  could  not  see  them  before  I  went 
away." 

He  put  out  his  hand,  and  mechanically 
she  took  it  in  hers ;  but  she  unloosed  it  im- 
mediately with  a  shudder,  and  left  him  ab- 
ruptly. He  was  compelled  to  be  content 
with  that  good-by,  unsatisfactory  as  it  was, 
and  he  walked  to  his  home,  where  Dan 
had  been  staying  for  the  last  few  days,  eat- 
ing there,  and  sleeping,  in  Joshua's  room. 
Sitting  in  their  bedroom  alone  on  those 
last  few  nights,  when  all  but  themselves  in 
the  house  were  sleeping  the  friends  renewed 
their  vows  of  faithful  love,  and  spoke  of 
many  things  in  the  future  which  both  of 
them  desired.  In  one  of  these  conversa- 
tions Joshua  put  into  Dan's  hands  a  writ- 
ten paper,  which  made  Dan  and  Joshua's 
tather  masters  of  his  small  savings  and  of 
wages  that  would  be  due  to  him  from  the 
London  owners  of  the  "  Merry  Andrew." 

"In  case  any  thing  happens  to  me,"  said 
Joshua,  in  explanation. 

"  Not  tor  any  other  reason,  Jo,"  said 
Dan,  ' '  for  I  shall  never  want  the  money." 

"  Father  may  want  a  little.  It  is  all  his 
and  yours.  As  to  your  never  wanting 
money,  I  wish  I  could  feel  sure  of  it." 

"  You  may,  Jo ;  I  am  earning  quite 
enough  with  my  birds.  Mr.  Fewster  gave 
me  an  order  yesterday  for  four  canaries 
thoroughly  trained  to  do  all  the  best  and 
newest  tricks." 

Joshua  uttered  a  dissatisfied  "  Hm  !  "  at 
the  mention  of  ]\Ir.  Fewster's  name.  Dan 
understood  it,  for  Joshua  had  contracted 
what  Dan  said  was  an  uni-easonable  dislike 
for  Solomon  Fewster.  Now,  in  reply  to  a 
remonstrance  from  Dan,  Joshua  said,  — 

"  But  you  don't  like  him,  Dan." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Dan,  consider- 
ing. "  When  you  put  it  to  me  so  plainly, 
I  am  rather  inclined  to  say  I  do  like  him  ; 
for  I  cannot  give  a  reason  for  not  doing  so. 
I  can  give  a  reason  for  liking  him  ;  he  buys 
my  birds  "  — 

"  And  sells  them  at  a  profit,  I'll  be 
bound." 

"  Perhaps  ;  he  has  a  right  to  do  so,  if  he 
pleases.  1  did  think  at  first  that  he  bought 
them  for  himself,  but  of  course  I  was  mis- 


NEVER  TO   RETURN. 


Ill 


taken.  However,  whatever  he  does  with 
them,  he  buys  them  and  j)ays  tor  them  : 
that's  enough  for  nie.  You  could  <rive  as 
good  a  reason  fur  likinp;  him.  lie  was  kind 
to  you  when  you  were  ill." 

"  Oh,    yes  !    brought    me   jellies     and 
thinirs  "  — 

"  And  you  ate  them  and  relished  them," 
said  Dan,  laughing. 

"  I  diiln't  know  that  he  had  brought 
them,  or  I  wouldn't  have  touched  them. 
I  remember  in  one  of  our  coasting-trips  we 
had  a  passenger  on  board  who  wrote  for 
newspapers,  and  who  was  said  to  be  a  very 
clever  man.  Certainly  he  talked  like  one. 
He  used  to  talk  to  me,  as  much  perhaps  be- 
cause I  was  a  pood  listener,  as  for  any 
other  reason.  Well,  a  favorite  subject 
with  him  was  what  he  called  magnetic 
sympathy.  He  would  just  have  suited  you. 
l)an  !  He  said  that  the  natural  magnetism 
which  makes  persons  like  or  dislike  one  an- 
other, without  apparent  reason,  is  never 
wrongly  directed." 

"  A  kind  of  instinct,"  remarked  Dan  re- 
flectively. 

"  He  said,  too,  that  as  there  are  certain 
things  in  chemicals  that  won't  mix,  being 
opposed  in  their  natures,  so  there  are  per- 
sons who  have  natural  antipathies  "  — 

"  And  won't  mix  —  like  you  and  ^Ir. 
Fewster,"  interpolated  Dan. 

"  Just  so.  Besides  that,  I  have  a  good 
many  little  reasons  for  not  liking  Mr.  Few- 
ster." 

"  Firstly,"  prompted  Dan. 

"  He  never  looks  me  in  the  face." 

"  Secondly." 

"  He  has  a  horribly  smooth  voice." 

"  Tliirdly." 

"He  has  flat  feet  — ugly  flat  feet.  I 
shall  always  hate  men  with  flat  feet.  Tlien 
every  thing  about  him  shifts  and  shufiles. 
But  don't  let  us  talk  about  him  any  more. 
I  can't  keep  my  temper  when  he  is  in  my 
thoughts." 

The  conversation  drifted  into  other  sub- 
jects, and  Solomon  Fewster  was  dismissed. 

It  was  Dan's  whim  to  have  all  his  birds 
on  a  table  for  Joshua's  inspection  on  the 
morning  of  his  friend's  departure. 

"  Although  we  are  men  now,  Jo,"  he 
said,  "  I  should  wish  us  to  keep  our  boyish 
fancies  fresh  and  green  always  in  our 
hearts.  There  is  plenty  of  room  for  them, 
notwithstanding  that  hfe  is  a  more  serious 
thing  to  us  than  it  was." 

There  they  were,  the  modest  linnets,  the 
saucy  tomtits,  the  defiant  blackbirds,  the 
handsome  canai-ies.  Among  the  latter 
were  four  which  Dan  pronounced  to  be 
"  real  beauties ;  "  they  were  of  a  beautiful 
orange  color,  and  the  feathers  in  their  tails 
and  wings  were  of  a  deep   black.      These 


were  the  canaries  which  Dan  had  spoken 
of  as  having  been  "  onlered  "  for  Solomon 
Fewster.  As  they  were  admiring  them, 
Solomon  Fewster's  step  was  lieard  in  the 
passage,  and  the  man  himself  entered  to 
wish  Joshua  good-by.  He  was  profuse  in 
his  good  wishes,  to  which  Joshua  listened 
in  silence,  uttering  no  word  but  "good-by" 
as  Fewster  (juitted  the  room.  It  so  hap- 
pened that,  during  the  pauses  in  his  expres- 
sions of  good  will  to  Joshua,  Solomon  Few- 
ster looked  at  the  canaries  which  Dan  had 
purchased  for  him,  and  handled  them  with 
words  of  approval.  When  he  was  gone, 
Joshua,  who  had  thrown  his  handkerchief 
carelessly  upon  the  table,  said,  — 

"  That  man  hates  me,  Dan,  more  than  I 
hate  him." 

"  My  dear  Jo,"  said  Dan,  "  how  can  you 
be  so  fanciful  ?  " 

"  Forewarned  is  fore-armed,  Dan.  I  hecr 
of  you  not  to  trust  him  ;  I  beg  of  you  not 
to  believe  he  is  any  thins  but  a  cruel  false 
man.  He  wishes  me  ill  —  else  why  do  I 
instinctively  shrink  from  the  touch  of  his 
hand '?  He  wishes  me  ill  —  else  why  is 
this  V  "  Joshua  removed  his  handkerchief, 
and  Dan  saw  one  of  his  beautiful  canaries 
dead  upon  the  table.  "  As  he  talked  to 
me  with  his  smooth  tongue,"  continued 
Joshua.  "  wishing  me  well  in  his  hateful 
voice,  he  crushed  the  life  out  of  this  poor 
bird.  Is  that  no  sign  of  a  false  bad  heart  ? 
Had  his  thou^rhts  been  as  gentle  as  his 
words,  would  this  have  happened  ?  "  Dan 
was  silent ;  he  could  not  defend  Solomon 
Fewster  by  another  word.  "  Let  us  say 
good-by  here,  dear  Dan.  Mother  and  fa- 
ther are  waiting  for  me,  and  many  of  the 
neighbors  also,  to  give  me  God-speed  in  a 
better  fashion  and  with  kinder  hearts  than 
that  cruel  man.  Good-by,  dearest  friend. 
God  send  you  all  that  your  heart  de- 
sires !  " 

"  Thank  you,  dear  friend.  You  know 
the  one  thing  I  desire  to  render  me  per- 
fectly happy — Minnie's  love.  Say,  '  God 
speed  you  in  that  venture  !  '  Jo." 

"  God  speed  you  1  Dan,  it  comes  upon 
me  now  to  ask  you  one  question.  You  do 
not  doubt  me,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Doubt  you,  Jo  !    No,  nor  never  can." 

"  The  answer  is  from  your  heart.  I 
should  not  have  asked  but  that  some  things 
have  distressed  me  lately,  and  I  should  in- 
deed be  unhappy  if  I  thought  you  had  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  of  me.  It  may  be  that 
our  voyage  will  not  be  prosperous  ;  it  may 
be  that  I  may  never  live  to  return.  If  I  do 
not  —  nay,  Dan,  I  am  impelled  to  speak 
thus  —  if  I  do  not,  believe  me  to  have 
been  always  the  same  to  you.  Believe 
that  I  never  wavered  in  my  love  or  my 
truth,  and  that  to  the  last  I  held  you  in  my 


112 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


heart,  as  I  hold  you  now,  gentlest,   dearest, 
best  of  friends." 

Dan  drew  Joshua's  face  to  his  and  kissed 
it. 

"  We  are  one,  Jo,"  he  said  softly ; 
"  nothing  can  divide  our  hearts.  God 
bless  and  protect  you,  and  bring  you  safely 
back." 

The  leave-taking  between  Joshua  and 
his  parents  was  of  a  very  different  nature 
from  the  la=it,  when  he  was  leaving  home 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  Then  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  ^larvel  were  beset  with  doubts  as  to 
whether  the  step  Joshua  was  about  to  take 
was  for  the  best.  Now,  these  doubts  were 
dissolved.  He  had  gone  on  his  venture  a 
bright  happy  boy,  and  had  returned  a 
bright  happy  man.  lie  had  started  on  the 
lowest  round  of  the  ladder,  and  had  already 
mounted  many  steps.  Third  mate  already ! 
What  might  he  not  attain  to?  They 
were  proud  of  him,  and  with  just  cause. 
All  the  neighbors  were  proud  of  him,  too  ; 
he  was  a  prince  among  them.  The  family 
were  quite  a  distinguished  family  in  the 
neighborhood,  as  having  for  their  represen- 
tative a  young  man  who  had  been  all  over 
the  world  —  a  man  who  had  not  only  seen 
the  sea,  but  who  had  been  on  it.  A  little 
crowd  of  neighbors  had  gathered  about 
the  house  to  give  Joshua  a  parting  hand- 
shake. The  information  of  their  having 
gathered  for  that  purpose  was  imparted  to 
Joshua  by  his  father  with  an  air  of  pride. 

"  I've  lived  in  this  neighborhood  for 
nearly  fifty  years,  Josh,"  said  George  Mar- 
vel, "  and  I've  never  but  once  seen  so 
many  of  the  neighbors  on  the  lookout  at 
one  time." 

"  When  was  that,  father  ?  "  asked  Josh- 
ua, humoring  his  father's  vanity. 

"  That  was  when  a  carriage  with  two 
white  horses  came  through  the  street,  and 
stopped  in  it  for  full  five  minutes.  It  was 
the  first  carriage  that  ever  was  seen  here, 
and  the  last,  for  that  matter.  You  remem- 
ber, mother  !  " 

"  Yes,  George." 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  stopped  with  us 
until  the  last  minute.  Josh,"  continued 
George  Marvel ;  "  but  Mr.  Meddler  was  so 
mightily  anxious  that  you  should  spend  to- 
night and  to-morrow  with  him  at  Graves- 
end,  that  he  couldn't  well  be  refused,  being 
so  good  a  friend.  Do  you  think  your  ship 
will  sail  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  or  next  day,  daddy."  And 
Joshua  put  his  arm  round  his  mother's 
neck,  and  t^he  looked  up  at  her  big  son  with 
affectionate  pride. 

"  In  three  or  four  months  you'll  be  among 
the  savages  again,"  observed  George  Mar- 
vel contemplatively  and  admiringly. 

"  I  shall  see  plenty  of  them,  I  dare  say, 


father.  They  come  down  to  Sydney  from 
what  the  peo})le  call  the  interior.'' 

"  And  they  arc  black  all  over,  eh,  Josh  ?  " 
asked  George  Marvel,  who  was  never 
tired  of  a  repetition  of  Joshua's  adven- 
tures. 

"  A  kind  of  brown-black  rather,"  an- 
swered Joshua,  "  with  eyes  like  pieces  of 
lighted  coal." 

"  And  not  a  bit  of  clothing  ?  " 

"  An  old  blanket,  some  of  them  ;  nothing 
at  all,  a  good  many.  A  sailor  gave  one  a 
pair  of  trousers,  and  the  fellow  tied  them 
round  his  neck  by  the  legs." 

"  Dye  see  what  strange  things  there  are 
in  the  world,  mother,  that  we  never  knew 
of?  "  observed  George  Marvel  to  his  wife. 
'•  That  comes  of  being  a  wood-turner  all 
one's  lift?.  —  Josh,  if  you  have  children, 
don't  make  wood-turners  of  'ein." 

"  I  won't,  father,"  said  Joshua,  laughing  ; 
"  but  I'm  not  certain  either  that  I'd  make 
sailors  of  them." 

"  There,  father  1  "  IVIrs.  Marvel  could  not 
help  saying  triumphantly,  "  what  do  you 
say  to  that  ?  Joshua  is  coming  round  to 
my  old  way  of  thinking." 

"  Now,  one  would  think,"  said  George 
Marvel,  appealing  to  an  invisible  audience, 
"  that  Joshua's  done  a  bad  thino-  by  bein"- 
a  saiior. 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Joshua  ;  "  I've  nothing 
to  grumble  at ;  I've  been  very  lucky,  and 
I'm  thankful  for  it.  But  it  is-  a  hard  life 
for  a  common  sailor.  He's  bullied  here 
and  buffeted  there,  and  is  obliged  to  be  up 
at  all  times  of  the  night  and  day  sometimes, 
and  he  gets  soaked  and  soaked  until  he 
hasn't  a  dry  thing  to  put  on.  Then,  when 
he's  dead-beat  and  turns  in,  he  hasn't  been 
asleep  an  hour  perhaps  when  all  the  watches 
are  called  on  deck,  and  there  he  is  again, 
half  dead  with  sleep,  wondering  whether 
he  is  dreaming  or  not,  till  he  is  woke  up 
with  a  vengeance  by  the  water  trickling 
down  his  back,  and  the  wind  blowing  as  if 
it  would  blow  his  eyes  clean  out  of  his 
head." 

Mrs.  Marvel  shivered  with  apprehension 
at  Joshua's  description  ;  and  he  with  ready 
tact  continued, — 

"  But  that's  not  often  ;  and  even  when 
an  inexperienced  man  would  suppose  there 
was  great  danger,  there  really  is  none  at 
all.  For  the  most  part,  it  is  fair  and  beau- 
tiful ;  and  when  you  are  bowling  along 
under  a  steady  breeze,  with  all  sails  set, 
surrounded  by  a  bright  cloud  and  bright 
water,  there  isn't  a  more  glorious  life  in  the 
world.  If  you  wei'e  to  see  the  shij),  mothei 
dear,  on  a  calm  day,  with  the  sails  like 
birds'  white  wings,  with  a  deck  as  clean  as 
this  kitchen,  and  the  sailors  sitting  about 
mending  sails  and  splicing  ropes,  while  the 


THE   OLD   SAILOR   SETS   MATTERS   STRAIGHT. 


113 


grand  all)ntros.«es  are  flyin;^  over  us,  and 
shoals  of  beaut it'ul  fish  are  leapiiii^  Hke  deer 
in  tlie  sea  —  if  you  were  to  see  it  then,  you 
would  almost  wish  you  had  been  <a  man,  st) 
that  you  nii'^ht  be  a  sailor.  And  throu.;h 
all  '  there's  a  sweet  little  cherub  that  sits 
up  aloft,  to  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor 
Jack.' " 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel, satisfied  wi'.h  the  sentiment  of  the 
quotation,  thoucrh  its  meanini^  was  not  quite 
clear  to  her  ;  '•  I'm  glad  to  hear  that."     ■ 

"  Dear  old  mother ! "  said  Joshua,  in 
secret  delight  at  her  simplicity,  kissing  her. 

"  But  the  best  of  it  all  is,"  said  George 
Marvel,  "  it  makes  a  man  of  you ;  your 
muscle's  like  a  bit  of  iron.  Feel  mine, 
Josh — like  a  bit  of  soft  putty.  That 
comes  of  being  a  wood-turner." 

"  Ellen  and  Mr.  Meddler  went  down  to 
Gravesend  two  hours  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel to  Joshua,  who  was  tying  his  accordion 
in  his  jiocket-handkerchief. 

Joshua  nodded.  Brave  as  he  had  in- 
tended to  be,  spasms  were  rising  in  his 
throat. 

"  You  have  all  your  things,  dear  ?  " 

"Yes,  every  thing." 

He  turned  to  take  a  last  look  at  the 
homely  kitchen,  noting  in  that  momentary 
glance  the  position  of  every  piece  of  furni- 
ture and  of  the  crockery  on  the  dresser. 
The  yellow-haired  cat  was  too  old  now  to 
do  any  thing  but  lie  on  the  hearth  before 
the  fire;  and  Joshua  stooped  and  patted  its 
head.  "Wiien  he  rose  and  put  his  hand  on 
the  back  of  a  chaii*,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
that  common  piece  of  wood  and  every 
other  inanimate  thing  in  the  room  were 
familiar  friends.  The  very  shape  of  the 
room  was  dear  to  him.  The  dear  old 
kitchen  !  how  many  happy  hours  had  he 
passed  in  it !  He  could  have  knelt  and 
kissed  the  floor,  his  heart  was  so  tender. 
As  it  was,  he  touched  the  table  and  the 
mantle-shelf,  over  which  the  bright  sauce- 
pan-lids were  hanging,  lovingly  with  his 
fingers,  and  with  dim  eyes  walked  slowly 
away.  His  arm  was  round  his  mother's 
waist  as  they  went  up  stairs  to  the  street- 
door,  and  he  put  his  face  to  her  neck  and 
kissed  it —  a  favorite  trick  of  his  when  he 
was  a  child.  It  brought  to  her  suddenly 
the  fancy  that  her  son  was  a  baby-boy  still ; 
and  she  caressed  his  curly  head  as  a  young 
mother  might  have  done.  Mr.  Marvel  of 
course  was  too  manly  to  give  way  to  such 
weakness ;  but  nevertheless  he  clasped 
Joshua's  hand  with  a  clinging  fondness, 
and  the  tune  he  was  humming  in  proof  of 
his  manliness  came  rather  huskily  from  his 
throat.  It  was  a  triumphant  moment  for 
him  when  he  opened  the  street-door,  and 
stood  on  the  step  with  his  wife  and  Joshua ; 


for  there  in  the  street  were  many  of  his 
neighbors,  who  pushed  forward  to  shake 
Joshua's  hand,  and  to  wish  him  God-speed; 
while  some  of  the  women  slyly  gave  him 
"  a  lucky  touch." 

"  One  word,  dear  mother,"  said  Joshua, 
drawing  mother  and  father  into  the  passage, 
whereat  all  the  neigiil)ors  fell  away,  and 
turned  their  backs  to  the  door,  there  being 
nothing  there  really  worth  noticing.  "  Take 
care  of  my  darling  Ellen  for  me.  And 
Dan  too ;  he  may  need  it." 

"  They  are  our  children,  Joshua,  next  to 
you,"  said  ]Mrs.  Marvel. 

"  You  think  to  yourself,  when  you  are 
away,  Josh,"  said  Mr.  Marvel,  with  his 
finger  in  a  button-hole  in  Joshua's  jacket. 
"  '  There  is  Ellen,  my  wife  that  is  to  be ; 
and  there  is  Dan,  my  dearest  friend ;  and 
there  is  father  and  mother  with  them  every 
day,  loving  them  almost  as  much  as  they 
love  me,  and  almost  as  proud  of  them.' 
You  think  that.  Josh,  and  you'll  think 
right." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  Once  more,  good-by ; 
God  bless  you  all !  " 

And  so,  with  tender  embraces,  hearty 
neighborly  farewells,  and  waving  of  hands, 
Joshua,  with  his  accordion  under  his  arm, 
bade  farewell  to  his  dear  old  humble  home. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 

TUE    OLD   SAILOR    SETS   MATTERS 
STRAIGHT. 

Havixg  made  over  the  whole  of  his 
worldly  property  to  Joshua  aTid  Ellen  "  for 
better  or  worse,"  it  was  reasonable  that 
Praiseworthy  Meddler  should  have  con- 
siderable weight  in  the  family  council  of 
the  Marvels.  The  arrangement  whereby 
Joshua  left  his  home  a  day  before  his  ship 
was  to  sail  was  entirely  of  the  Old  Sailor's 
making ;  he  and  he  alone  was  responsible 
for  it.  Naturally  enough,  when  he  had  at 
first  proposed  it,  he  had  met  with  opposi- 
ti(jn  —  especially  from  Mrs.  iSIarvel,  who 
wished  Joshua  to  remain  with  them  until 
the  last  moment.  But.  after  a  private  con- 
versation with  the  Old  Sailor,  she  had 
yielded  to  his  wish,  and  had  even  used 
arguments  to  induce  Joshua's  readier  com- 
pliance. Tliat  being  obtained,  the  Old 
Sailor  informed  them'that  he  had  _  a  lady- 
friend  at  Gravesend,  name  Mrs.  Eliza  Fris- 
well,  who  was  a  married  woman  herself  with 
a  family,  and  who  kept  a  respectable 
board inir-house,  with  whom  he  had  arranged 
that  Ellen  should  stay  until  the  anchor  of 


114 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


the  "  Merry  Andrew  "  was  wei<;he(l ;  sub- 
stantiating his  statement  by  a  letter  from 
Mrs.  Eliza  Friswell  to  Mrs.  Marvel,  in  which 
Mrs.  Eliza  —  as  the  Old   Sailor  called  her 

—  undertook  to  look  after  Ellen  as  "  one 
of  her  own."  On  the  niornins;  of  Joshua's 
departure  from  Stepney,  the  Old  Sailor, 
dressed  in  his  best,  and  decorated  with  a 
bunch  of  flowers  in  honor  of  Ellen,  had 
called  for  his  pretty  lass  and  had  taken  her 
away,  leaving  a  message  that  if  Joshua  did 
not  arrive  at  Gravesend  exactly  at  the  ap- 
pointed time,  Ellen  had  consented  to  run 
away  with  him  —  to  wit.  Praiseworthy 
Meddler  —  and  get  married.  Very  proud 
was  the  Old  Sailor  of  his  charge,  and  very 
tender  and  confidential  was  the  nature  of 
his  communications  to  her  as  they  made 
their  way  to  Gravesend.  What  it  was  that 
made  her  blush  and  laugh  and  cry  in  turns 

—  what  it  was  that  made  her  serious  one 
moment  and  glad  the  next  —  was  known 
only  to  themselves.  Certainly  no  one  was 
taken  into  their  confidence  until  they  ar- 
rived at  Mrs.  Eliza's,  when,  with  a  fatherly 
kiss,  he  delivered  Ellen  into  the  charge  of 
that  estimable  matron.  Mrs.  Eliza's  hus- 
band was  a  boatman,  rough  and  strong  as 
a  boatman  should  be  :  with  a  great  red  face 
and  great  red  hands,  and  with  a  voice  that 
rumbled  from  his  great  deep  chest  with  such 
thunderous  power  as  to  render  such  a  thing 
as  a  whisper  physically  impossible.  He  was 
tlie  owner  of  a  ileet  of  four  boats,  which  had 
been  bought  and  paid  for  in  shrimps  and 
watercresses,  or,  at  all  events,  with  the 
profits  made  by  Mrs.  Eliza  out  of  those  deli- 
cacies, which  she  purveyed  to  the  easily- 
satisfied  amorous  British  public,  with  stale 
bread-and-butter  and  an  imitation  of  tea,  at 
nine  pence  per  head. 

Praiseworthy  Meddler  was  fraternizing 
with  Mrs.  Eliza's  husband  when  Joshua 
made  his  appearance.  Mrs.  Eliza's  hus- 
band immediately  sheered  off,  and  the  Old 
Sailor  took  Joshua  in  tow.  In  response  to 
the  Old  Sailor's  remark  that  he  was  late, 
Joshua,  who  felt  very  despondent,  said  that 
parting  from  those  at  home  took  a  longer 
time  than  he  had  expected. 

"  Ay,  my  lad,"  said  the  Old  Sailor 
gravely,  "  'tis  a  hard  word,  good-by,  when 
said  to  those  we  love.  A  long  time  with 
Dan,  I  dare  say  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  but  it  didn't  seem  long.  Time 
flies  faster  at  some  times  than  others." 

"  Ay ;  flies  fastest  when  we  most  want  it 
to  hold  out.  Mother  and  father  all 
right  ?  " 

"  As  right  as  may  be,  sir.  Crying  more 
now,  I  know  by  my  own  feelings,  than 
when  I  was  with  them.  Kept  up  for  my 
sake,  sir,  to  give  me  couKage."  And  Joshua 
turned  aside. 


"  No  need  to  be  ashamed  of  your  tears, 
my  lad.  Gentle  thoughts  and  a  gentle  heart 
go  together.  Some  people  say  'tis  unmanly 
to  cry,  but  I  wouldn't  give  much  for  the 
man  who  never  cried,  or  who  wasn't  some- 
times so  near  it  as  to  feel  a  gulping  in  the 
throat.  'Tis  as  much  crying,  that  is,  as  if 
the  tears  were  rolling  down  his  face.  I've 
felt  like  it  myself,  I'm  glad  to  say." 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  me,  sir." 

"  You  deserve  it.  Josh,  you  deserve  it, 
thou-ih  I've  a  doubt  that  you're  a  bit  blind 
to  some  thmgs. 

"  To  what  things,  sir  ?  " 

"  Gently  my  lad,  gently.  Plenty  of  time 
to  talk." 

The  gravity  of  the  Old  Sailor  was  con- 
tagious, and  Joshua  felt  that  the  good  old 
fellow  was  about  to  say  something  which  he 
deemed  of  importance. 

"  Where  is  Ellen,  sir  ?  " 

"  In  the  house  with  Mrs.  Eliza.  She  is 
happy  and  comfortable,  my  lad ;  and  when 
you  and  me  have  had  our  bit  of  talk,  we 
will  go  in  to  her.  She  knows  that  we're 
together,  and  that  we've  got  something  to 
speak  about.  As  you  turned  the  street,  she 
put  her  pretty  head  out  of  window  there  — 
you  didn't  know  the  house  or  you'd  have 
seen  her  do  it,  like  a  true  sailor  as  you 
are  —  and  when  she  saw  us  togetlier,  she 
put  her  pretty  head  in  again,  satisfied.  And 
you  left  everybody  at  home  all  right,  eli  ? 
Grieving  naturally  to  be  sure,  but  other- 
ways  all  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Let  us  walk  as  we  talk,"  said  tbe  Old 
Sailor,  hooking  his  arm  in  Joshua's,  and 
walking  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  "  Or 
we  shall  talk  better  in  a  boat,  perhaps ; 
Mrs.  Eliza's  husband  shall  paddle  us  about 
the  while." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  see  Ellen  just  for 
one  minute  first. 

"  To  begin  your  kissing,  eh,  my  lad  ?  " 
said  the  Old  Sailor,  with  a  roguish  laugh. 
"  No,  no ;  you'll  have  plenty  of  time  for 
that.  I'm  in  command  now,  and  1 11  have 
no  mutineering,  or  I'll  put  you  in  irons. 
You'll  not  like  them  as  well  as  Ellen's  pretty 
arms."  Notwithstanding  the  light  nature 
of  the  Old  Sailor's  words,  Joshua  detected 
a  serious  mood  beneath  them,  and  with  a 
good  grace  he  walked  to  the  landing-place 
and  stepped  into  the  boat  which  Mrs.  Eliza's 
husband  held  ready. 

"  So  you  were  a  long  time  with  Dan,  my 
lad,"  remarked  the  Old  Sailor,  when  they 
were  launched.  "  What  did  you  talk  about 
mostly  ?  " 

"  The  old  things,  sir,  —  ourselves  most- 
ly  V " 

"You  have  no  secrets  from  Dan,  my 
lad  ?  " 


THE   OLD   SAILOR  SETS  MATTERS   STRAIGHT. 


115 


"  Ko,  sir,  none." 

"  And  he  has  none  from  you  ?  " 

"None,  sir." 

"  And  yet  I'll  be  bound,"  said  the  Old 
Sailor,  loolvin<r  steadily  at  Joshua,  and  ooin- 
pelliu'j;  Joshua  to  return  his  gaze,  "  that 
there  was  soniethinLj  which  you  might  have 
spoken  of  ha<l  you  not  been  restrained  l)y 
a  feelin",  say,  of  kindness  to  Dan.  What, 
now  ?  " 

"  There  rcm^  something,  sir,"  replied 
Joshua,  wondering  what  tliis  conversation, 
so  singularly  commenced,  would  lead  to. 

"  Ah  !  "  ejaculated  the  Old  Sailor,  rub- 
bing his  knees  in  a  satisfied  manner  ;  "  let 
us  hear  what  that  something  was." 

'•  You  speak  so  earnestly,  sir,"  said 
Joshua,  inwardly  questioning  himself,  "  that 
I  must  be  careful  not  to  conceal  any  thing 
from  you  —  not  that  I  have  any  reason  nor 
that  I  wish  to  do  so,  but  something  might 
escape  me.  I  must  first  say,  though  that 
you  must  not  expect  me  to  break  any  con- 
fidence —  that  supposing  Dan  had  a  secret, 
and  had  imparted  it  to  me,  I  should  not  be 
justified  in  telling  that  secret  to  any  one 
else." 

"  Fair  and  honest,  my  lad  ;  what  I  ex- 
pected from  you." 

"Well,  then,  I  have  been  sorry  to  find 
that  Mr.  Kindred  "  — 

"Minnie's  father  —  yes,"  interrupted  the 
Old  Sailor,  with  a  sharp  look  at  Joshua. 

"  Has  been  changed  to  all  of  us  lately, 
and  especially  to  me  ;  and  I  have  been  sor- 
ry to  think  that  it  is  because  of  something 
which  I  have  done  that  he  is  so  changed." 

"  You  know  of  nothing.  Josh  ?  " 

"  Nothing  —  absolutely  nothing  ;  and 
that's  what  grieves  me.  If  I  did  know,  I 
should  be  able  to  justify  myself.  Why,  sir, 
tills  morning  he  refused  to  see  me  when  I 
went  to  wish  him  good-by,  and  refused  to 
let  me  see  Minnie.  I  did  not  speak  of 
this  thing  to  Dan  because  of  my  love  for 
him." 

"  And  because,"  said  the  Old  Sailor, 
"  supposing  that  Dan  had  a  secret  and  had 
imparted  it  to  you,  you  thought  that  Dan 
would  be  easier  in  his  mind  —  in  conse- 
quence of  his  secret  —  if  he  did  not  know 
of  Mr.  Kindred's  strange  refusal  to  see  you." 

"  Just  so,  sir." 

"  Could  I  guess  this  secret  of  Dan's  ?  " 
questioned  the  Old  Sailor.  "  Could  an  old 
tar  like  me,  who  wouldn't  be  supposed  to 
know  much  of  boys  and  girls  and  their 
whims  and  whams,  venture  to  guess  that 
this  secret  of  our  dear  friend  Dan's  was  all 
about  a  woman  ?  " 

Joshua  did  not  reply. 

"  And  such  a  woman  ! "  continued  the 
Old  Sailor.  "With  eyes  as  bright  as  the 
stars,  and  with  hair  like  a  mermaid's.     As 


cunning  as  a  mermaid  too ;  not  wickedly 
cunning  —  no,  no  ;  but  'tis  in  her  to  l)e  so ; 
and  she  needs  weaning  from  it,  like  a  babe." 

Very  gentle  was  the  Old  Sailor's  voice  ; 
and  greatly  did  Joshua  wonder,  not  at  its 
gentleness,  for  that  was  natural  to  the  old 
man,  but  at  tin;  wisdom  of  the  words  that 
came  from  liis  lips.  All  his  roughness  was 
gone  ;  all  his  pleasantry  was  gone ;  all  his 
simplicity  was  laid  aside  for  the  time  ;  and  the 
Old  Sailor  spoke  as  if  all  his  life  he  had 
been  studying  woman's  nature  until  he  was 
master  of  its  comj>lexities.  But  such  deep 
wisdom  often  comes  from  very  simplicity. 

"  Lord  love  you,  my  lad  !  "  he  said,  "  how 
blind  you  have  been !  Here  has  been  a 
woman's  heart  laid  bare  to  you,  and  you 
have  not  suspected  it." 

Joshua  trembled  with  apprehension. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,"  he  implored, 
"  speak  more  plainly  !  " 

"I  intend  to  do  so,  Joshua;  for  this  is 
the  solemnest  time  of  your  life.  I  have 
considered  the  matter  deeply,  and  I  can  see 
but  one  right  thing  to  do  ;  but  I  am  run- 
ning ahead  too  fast.  Steady  there,  steady. 
As  I  said  a  time  ago,  here  has  been  a  wo- 
man's heart  laid  bare  to  you,  and  you  have 
not  suspected  it.  What  woman,  now  ?  But 
'tis  not  right  to  ask,  mayhap." 

"  Ask  me  any  thing,  sir ;  I  will  answer 
truly." 

"  "What  woman  do  you  love  ?  " 

"  Ellen." 

"  Ellen  ?     And  Ellen  only  ?  " 

"  And  Ellen  only.  None  other  ;  nor  ever 
shall,  if  it  is  given  to  man  to  know  his 
heart." 

"  Good !  Answered  like  yourself;  an- 
swered like  the  lad  I  used  to  see  looking 
out  on  the  river  that  runs  to  the  sea ;  like 
the  lad  my  old  heart  warmed  to  because 
there  was  honesty  in  his  f;ice  ;  like  the  lad 
who  has  grown  to  be  a  man,  and  who  sits 
afore  me  now  with  truth  in  his  eyes." 

"  Thank  you  for  that,  sir." 

"  What  woman  does  this  lad,  now  grown 
to  be  a  man,  love '?  Ellen  —  the  pretty 
Ellen,  the  truest-hearted,  gentlest-hearted, 
kindest-hearteil,  dearest  lass  on  all  the  high 
seas.  W^hat  woman  does  Joshua's  friend  Dan 
love  ?  That's  a  question  I  ask  myself.  'Tis 
easily  answered.  Minnie  —  Minnie  with 
the  mermaid's  hair,  and  with  eyes  bright  as 
the  stars.  Does  Minnie  love  Dan  ?  Y'es  ; 
but  not  as  Dan  wants  her  to  love  him. 
Why  ?  Because  there  is  some  one  in  the 
way." 

"  ^Vllo,  sir  ?  "  Joshua  was  constrained  to 
ask,  but  dreading  the  answer. 

"  She  loves  Dan's  friend  Joshua  better 
than  she  loves  Dan.  Let  that  friend,  who 
sits  afore  me  now,  search  his  heart  and  his 
mind,  and  let  him  say  what  he  thinks.     He 


116 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


knows  her  nature;  has  been  her  fi-iend 
since  she  was  a  girl ;  and,  cunning  as  a  wo- 
man may  be,  no  woman  can  be  cunning 
enough  to  hide  her  love  always  from  the 
man  she  lovesJ,  though  she  may  hide  it  from 
all  the  rest  of  the  world.  It  happens  some- 
times in  a  man's  life  that  he  may  be  uncon- 
scious of  a  thing  for  years  perhaps,  it  being 
present  to  him  all  the  time,  until,  sometimes 
in  one  way,  sometimes  in  another,  a  sudden 
light  is  thrown  upon  it,  and  he  sees  in  a 
flash  what  he  has  been  blind  to  all  his  life 
before." 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  said  Joshua  sadly. 
"  It  has  happened  to  me  now.  I  have  been 
blind." 

As  he  sat,  sadly  looking  at  the  evening 
shadows  reflected  in  the  river,  every  cir- 
cumstance connected  with  his  intimacy  with 
Minnie  came  to  his  mind  wilh  an  interpre- 
tation ditFerent  from  that  it  had  borne  be- 
fore. Her  pretty  fancy  of  the  shell,  which 
he  had  thought  of  often  as  a  childish  con- 
ceit, bore  a  ditlerent  meaning  now.  Ten- 
der looks  and  simple  acts,  which  had  pleased 
him  at  the  time,  gathered  strength,  and  be- 
came more  than  tokens  of  mere  friendship. 
Child  as  she  was  when  he  first  went  to  sea, 
he  recognized  now  that  she  had  more  than 
the  strength  of  a  child  ;  that  even  then,  in- 
deed, she  was  almost  a  woman.  When  he 
came  back,  a  man,  she  had  saved  his  life  ; 
and  when  he  thanked  her  for  it  —  surely 
he  could  do  no  less!  —  she  told  him  that 
she  did  not  want  thanks,  for  the  having 
saved  his  life  would  ever  be  her  sweetest 
remembrance.  "  Little  Minnie,  little  Min- 
nie," he  had  said,  kissing  her,  '•  thank  you 
for  your  devotion."  He  remembered  that 
she  trembled,  and  that  something  like  a 
sob  escaped  her  when  he  had  kissed  her. 
Had  he  done  wrong  ?  Was  he  to  blame  V 
All  he  had  done  had  been  innocently  done, 
as  from  a  brother  to  a  sister.  And  her  feel- 
ings were  known  to  others  when  they  had 
been  hidden  from  him.  Minnie's  secret 
was  known  to  her  father  and  to  Susan. 
That  was  the  reason  Avhy  Basil  Kindred 
had  questioned  him  so  strangely,  and  had 
told  him  the  story  of  his  life.  Words  ut- 
tered by  Basil,  which  had  borne  no  direct 
signification  when  they  were  spoken,  came 
to  him  now  witii  startling  vividness. 
"  Young  men  are  often  thoughtless  in  their 
actions,"  Basil  had  said ;  "  they  do  not 
know  the  depih  and  earnestness  of  some 
womanly  natures."  The  revelation  that 
had  come  to  him  served  also  to  account  for 
Susan's  singular  conduct  that  very  morn- 
ing. 

"  So,"  he  thought ;  "  they  believe  I  have 
been  playing  with  Minnie's  feelings  ;  and 
both  of  them  have  condemned  me.     And  I 


too  dreadful  to  think  of.     What  can  I  do? 
Oh,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

The  unspoken  words  rended  him  to  the 
soul ;  he  was  enveloped  in  a  despairing 
<larkness.  But  a  greater  terror  than  all 
fell  upon  liim  when  he  thought  of  Dan.  In 
such  a  momentous  crisis  as  that  through 
which  Joshua's  mind  was  passin'j,  nothing 
of  the  past  is  unremembered.  Words  which 
otherwise  are  borne  in  mind  only  by  their 
sense  come  l)ack  as  if  they  were  just  being 
uttered.  When  Dan  had  imparted  to 
Joshua  the  secret  of  his  love  for  Minnie,  he 
had  said,  "  A  great  hope,  shadowed  by  a 
great  fear,  has  entered  my  soul ;  a  hope 
which,  fulfilled,  would  make  earth  heaven 
for  me.  Is  it  too  precious  a  thing  to  pray  for? 
It  seems  so  to  me.  I  tremble  as  I  think  of  it. 
But  if  it  is  not  to  be,  I  hope  I  shall  soon 
die."  And  Joshua  heard  again  that  cry 
from  Dan's  soul,  almost  word  for  word.  The 
sacred  nature  of  the  love  exi>ting  between 
Dan  and  Joshua  needs  to  be  understood  to 
realize  the  terrible  fear  that  smote  Joshua 
at  the  present  time.  If  Dan  should  ever 
come  to  believe  him  false,  he  would  not  wish 
to  live ;  for  the  salt  would  have  gone  out 
of  his  life  forever. 

For  full  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Joshua  was 
wrapped  in  painful  thoutrht ;  and  the  Old 
Sailor  had  not  disturbed  him.  But  now, 
as  he  raised  his  tearful  eyes  to  the  Old 
Sailor's  face,  the  Old  Sailor  laid  his  hand 
gently  upon  Jo>hua's  knee,  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  Joshua,  and  how  do  vou  make  it 
out?" 

"  As  bad  as  it  well  can  be,  sir.  This  is 
the  hardest  stroke  I  have  ever  had.  I  do 
not  think  that  even  you  can  undei-stand 
how  hard  it  is  for  me." 

"  Because  of  Dan  ?  " 

"  Because  of  Dan,  sir.  I  have  no  need 
to  hide  Dan's  secret  from  you  now  —  you 
know  it ;  but  if  Dan  should  be  disappointed 
in  his  love  for  Minnie,  I  don't  know  what 
etTect  it  would  have  upon  him.  All  this  is 
very  terrible.  I  don't  need  to  assure  you, 
sir,  that  I  have  been  entirely  blameless, 
and  that  I  have  never  treated  Minnie 
In  any  way  but  that  of  an  honored  sis- 
ter." 

"  You  do  not,  my  lad,"  said  the  Old  Sail- 
or, with  an  evident  ijrightening  up  in  his 
manner;  "I  am  satisfied  of  that.  But 
what  do  we  do  when  a  storm  comes  ?  Do 
we  run  and  bury  our  heads  in  our  ham- 
mocks, or  do  we  stand  up  like  men  to  meet 
it  and  battle  with  it  ?  —  as  we  are  going  to 
meet  this  storm,  which  has  come  upon  us 
unaware,  and  from  no  fault  of  our'n.  Like 
men.  Josh;  we're  going  to  meet  it  like 
men.  I  am  looking  it  straight  in  tlie  face. 
No  wonder  it  made  you  stagger  when  it 
come  upon  you  sudden.    It  set  my  old  head 


THE   OLD   SAILOR   SETS    MATTERS   STRAIGHT. 


117 


a-fliinking  when  I  found  it  out  —  though  it 
oulv  come  upon  mc  by  dei^rees,  and  after  a 
deal  of  wateliiug.  Just  yon  think  a  bit 
now,  Josh,  and  tell  uie  if  you  don't  see 
any  way  of  getting  the  ship  oif  the  roeks." 

"I  can  see  no  way,  sir,"  said  Josluia, 
after  a  little  anxious  pondering;  "all  is 
dark  around  me." 

The  Old  Sailor  laughed  a  quiet  little 
laugh. 

"Lord,  Lord !  how  blind  these  young- 
sters are  !  Here's  a  sailor  that's  lost  his 
reckoning,  and  running  the  danger  of  see- 
ing his  ship  break  up  before  his  eyes;  and 
all  the  while  there's  a  smooth-water  bay 
close  alongside  him,  and  a  friendly  craft 
vrail-ing  to  give  him  a  hand." 
"  "Where  is  that  bay,  sir  V  " 
"  Steady,  my  lad,  steady.  Let's  see  what 
•we've  got  to  do.  Firstly,  our  duty  to  every 
body,  right  round.  Next,  to  make  two 
persons,  who  ought  to  know  better,  ashamed 
of  themselves  for  misjudging  of  us.  Next, 
to  make  every  thing  so  snug  that  our  friend 
Dan  sha'u't  suQ'er  from  any  fliult  of  our'n. 
Next,  to  teach  a  gentle  lesson  to  a  mer- 
maid of  a  girl  who's  got  a  notion  in  her 
head  that's  no  business  to  be  there,  but  who 
otherways  is  as  good  as  gold.  It's  a  riddle, 
my  lad,  and  I've  got  the  key  to  it  in  my 
pocket." 

"  May  I  see  it,  sir  ?  " 
"  You   may,   and   shall.  Josh,"  said  the 
Old  Sailor,  with  a  sly  chuckle.     "  It  was  to 
give  you  the  key,  that  I  brought  you  out 
here  to  talk." 

And  the  Old  Sailor  took  from  his  breast 
his  blue-cotton  pocket-handkerchief,  upon 
■which  was  imprinted  the  twelve-hundred- 
ton  ship,  with  all  its  sails  set  to  a  favor- 
able breeze.  There  was  a  knot  in  the 
handkerchief,  which  the  Old  Sailor  undid 
with  his  teeth,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
Joshua's  face  all  the  while.  The  knot 
being  untied,  the  Old  Sailor  took  from  the 
handkerchief  a  very  small  parcel  in  silver 
paper,  and  handed  it  to  Joshua  in  per  lee  t 
silence. 

Joshua  opened  the  silver  paper,  and 
found  in  it  a  wedding-ring. 

He  looked  at  the  tiny  symbol  with  a 
beating  heart,  and  a  glimmering  of  the 
Old  Sailor's  meaning  dawned  upon  his 
mind. 

"  That's  the  key,  my  lad,"  said  the  Old 
Sailor,  with  a  triumphant  expression  on  his 
honest,  weatherbeaten  face ;  "  that's  the 
key  to  it  all.  You  put  that  ring  upon 
pretty  Ellen's  finger  to-morrow  morning 
early,  and  what  happens?  ^Vliy,  you 
spend  your  honeymoon  here  in  Gravcsend 
with  your  liitle  wife  ;  and  when  the  '  Mer- 
ry Andrew'  sets  sail,  —  which  won't  be 
to-morrow,   Josh ;    I've  found  that  out,  — 


Ellen  goes  back  to  Stepney  with  that  pretty 
hit  of  gold  on  her  finger.  Says  she,  '  I'm 
married  —  married  to  Joshua.'  '  Mar- 
ried !  '  says  they,  all  but  one  of  'em  ;  '  mar- 
ried ! '  And  surprised  they  are,  all  but 
one  of  'em.  '  Who  made  you  do  it  V  '  says 
they,  all  but  one  of  'em.  'Mr.  Meddler,' 
says  she ;  '  Mr.  Meddler  made  me  do  it. 
lie's  a  hard-hearted  old  shark,  and  he 
maik  me  do  it.  But  I'm  not  sorry  for  it,' 
says  she ;  '  I'm  glad  of  it.  And  I'd  do  it 
over  again  to-morrow ;  for  I've  got  a  true- 
hearted  man  for  a  husband,  and  all  I've  got 
to  do  is  to  pray  that  he  may  come  back 
safe  to  me  and  to  all  of  us.'  With  that 
they  all  fill  a-kissing  one  another,  which 
is  but  ri'zht  under  the  circumstances. 
What  happens  then?  Says  Susan,  '  I  was 
mistaken ;  Joshua  is  as  he  always  was.' 
Says  Mr.  Kindred,  '  Minnie  is  safe.  God 
ble'ss  Joshua  for  doing  what  he  has  done.' 
Says  Mmnie  to  herself,  '  Ic's  no  use  my 
loving  a  married  man.  I've  been  a  foolish 
girl,  lind  what  I've  got  to  do  is  to  love 
Joshua  like  a  brother,  as  he  has  always 
loved  me  —  like  brother  and  sister;  that's 
all  we  can  ever  be  to  one  another.'  Then 
she  turns  to  Dan,  and  loves  that  tender- 
hearted friend,  —  who  ought  to  have  been 
a  man  six  foot  high,  with  his  limbs  as 
sound  as  our'n,  —  ami  loves  him  as  he 
ought  to  be  loved.  And  I  shouldn't  won- 
der, my  lad,  that  when  you  come  home 
from  this  trip,  Dan  will  say  to  you,  'Here 
is  my  wife,  Jo,  my  own  dear  IMiunie ;  and 
we're  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long.'  The 
consequence  of  all  of  which  is,  that  every 
thing  turns  out  as  it  ought  to  turn  out,  and 
as  we  all  want  it  to  turn  out." 

The  Old  Sailor  drew  a  long  breath  after 
this  peroration,  and  dabbed  his  face  in  a 
manner  expressive  of  a  high  state  of  exul- 
tation and  excitement.  Joshua  was  no 
less  moved.  He  toyed  with  the  wedding- 
riu^T  as  gently  and  affectionately  as  if  it 
were  already  "on  Ellen's  finger.  Truly,  to 
him  it  was  more  than  a  piece  of  plain 
gold ;  it  was  a  symbol  of  love.  If  it  had 
been  a  precious  life,  he  could  not  have  han- 
dled it  more  tenderly.  Tears  came  into 
his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  it,  and  his  heart 
beat  more  strongly  with  love  for  Elleuas 
he  pressed  the  ring  to  his  lips.  At  which 
action  the  Old  Sailor  gave  his  knee  a  great 
slap;  and  falling  back,  in  the  excitement 
of  his  triumph,  upon  Mrs.  Eliza's  husband, 
nearly  upset  a  boat  for  the  first  and  only 
time  in  his  life. 

"  And  that  is  the  reason,  sir,"  said 
Joshua,  "  that  you  wished  me  to  spend  my 
last  day  at  Gravesend  with  Ellen  V  " 

"That  is  the  reason,  my  lad,  and  no 
other." 

"  But  how  did  you  find  all  this  out?  " 


118 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


"  The  fact  of  it  is,  my  lad,"  replied  the 
most  unsuspicious  and  guileless  old  tar  that 
ever  crossed  salt  water,  "  I  put  this  and 
that  tocjether.  I  put  this  and  that  to- 
gether," he  repeated  with  an  air  of  amaz- 
ing cunning.  "  It  came  first  in  a  simple 
way.  When  you  were  ill,  I  went  one  day 
to  see  Minnie's  father;  and  Avhen  I  went 
into  his  room,  I  found  that  he  was  out. 
Minnie  was  there,  though :  but  she  didn't 
see  me.  She  was  sitting  on  the  ground  by 
her  father's  bed,  with  a  shell, at  her  ear,  and 
was  singing  some  words  softly  to  herself; 
and  I  heard  her  repeat  your  name,  Joshua, 
over  and  over  again.  It  might  have  been 
a  babe  singini,  her  voice  was  so  low  and 
sweet.  But  I  didn't  like  to  hear  it,  for  all 
that ;  and  from  that  time,  ray  lad,  I  began 
to  watch,  and  to  put  this  and  that  together. 
Lord  love  you !  if  you  hadn't  been  so 
■wrapped  up  with  Ellen,  you  would  have 
found  it  out  yourself  soon  enough.  You 
see,  if  Minnie  had  been  a  little  girl,  that 
shell  and  her  singing  wouldn't  have  mat- 
tered ;  but  being  a  woman,  it  did." 

"And  Ellen,  sir.  Have  you  told  her 
what  you  have  told  me  ?  " 

"  Just  as  much  as  wouldn't  wound  her 
sensitive  heart,  the  dear  lass.  Not  a  word 
about  Minnie.  I've  put  it  more  as  if  it  was 
your  doing  and  my  wish,  being  an  unrea- 
sonable old  shark,  you  know,  and  because 
I  had  a  right  to  have  my  own  unreasonable 
way.  I  told  her  Td  set  my  heart  on  it, 
and  so  had  you." 

"  And  her  answer  ?  " 

"  That  pretty  little  lass  says,  '  If  Joshua, 
that  I  love  dearer  than  all  the  world  '  — 
them's  her  very  words,  '  dearer  than  all  the 
world  '  —  '  wishes  me  to  marry  him  down 
here  at  Gravesend,  it  will  be  my  pride  and 
my  joy  to  do  as  he  wishes,  now  and  always.' 
Something  else  she  says  too.  But  before 
I  tell  you  what  that  something  else  was,  let 
me  know  what  you  think  about  it,  Josh." 

"  What  can  I  think,  sir,  after  what  you 
have  told  me,  but  that  I  believe  it  is  the 
best  and  only  way  to  set  all  matters  straight? 
It  is  a  task  both  of  love  and  duty  —  love  to 
Ellen,  duty  to  Dan  and  Minnie.  Yet  I 
have  one  regret.  I  have  often  pictured  in 
my  mind  what  a  proud  day  our  wedding- 
day  would  be  to  mother,"  —  his  voice  fal- 
tered here,  — "  and  how  her  dear  face  would 
have  brightened  when  our  hands  were 
joined  !  " 

"  That's  the  very  something  else  that 
Ellen  says  to  me.  Josh,"  said  the  Old  Sail- 
or, beaming  with  satisfaction.  "  Says  she, 
'  I  should  like  to  have  Josh's  mother  at  the 
wedding.'  Says  I,  '  My  dear,  Josh's  moth- 
er will  be  at  the  wedding.'  " 

"  No  1 "  exclaimed  Joshua  with  a  sudden 
start  of  surprise. 


"  Yes,"  cried  the  Old  Sailor  dabbing  hia 
face  gleefully.  "Says  I,  '  My  dear  Josh's 
mother  will  be  at  the  wedding.  She  will 
come  down  to  Gravesend  to-morrow  morn- 
ing early,  and  will  go  back  quietly  in  the 
afternoon.'  And  when  Ellen  tells  'em 
at  home  all  about  it,  mother  will  be  the 
only  one  among  'em  who  won't  be  sur- 
prised." 

"  Enough  said,  sir."  said  Joshua,  his 
heart  filled  with  wondering  happiness.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  have  done  to  deserve 
such  friends  as  I've  got.  Let  us  get  back 
to  Ellen." 

AVith  that,  Mrs.  Eliza's  husband,  who  had 
behaved  more  like  a  machine  than  a  man 
during  the  long  interview,  pulled  briskly  to 
shore. 

It  was  dusk  when  they  walked  along  the 
street  where  Mrs.  Eliza  lived  ;  but  Joshua 
saw  Ellen  standing  at  the  door  waiting  for 
them.  He  hastened  to  her  eagerly,  and 
with  his  arm  around  her  waist,  drew  her 
away  from  the  little  light  that  was  left. 
She  was  trembling ;  but  his  strong  arm  sup- 
ported her. 

"  So  you  are  to  be  my  little  wife  to-mor- 
row ?  "  he  said  in  a  voice  of  exceeding 
tenderness. 

She  clung  closer  to  him,  and  hiding  her 
face,  although  it  was  dark,  answered  him  in 
the  softest  of  soft  whispers,  "  Yes,  if  you 
are  satisfied  that  it  shall  be  so." 

"  It  will  be  for  the  best,  darling,"  he 
whispered,  embracing  her. 

How  proud  he  was  of  her !  and  what  a 
memorable  night  they  passed  with  the  Old 
Sailor !  The  best  room  in  the  house  had 
been  brightened  up  for  them  to  have  tea 
in  ;  and  after  tea.  Joshua  and  Ellen  strolled 
by  the  waterside  for  an  hour,  which 
seemed  about  five  minutes  long,  talking  as 
lovers  have  talked  since  the  Creation. 
Meanwhile,  the  Old  Sailor  stood  at  the 
door,  smoking  his  pipe  with  infinite  sati.*- 
fiiction  at  the  thouaht  of  having  set  all 
matters  straight.  While  he  thus  stood,  a 
man  approached  with  the  evident  intention 
of  making  an  inquiry  of  him  ;  but  catching 
sight  of  the  Old  Sailor's  face,  the  man  ut- 
tered a  hasty  exclamation  and  abruptly 
crossed  the  road,  making  a  pretence  of 
being  intoxicated.  It  was  but  a  pretence, 
but  it  deceived  the  Old  Sailor,  who  set  it 
down  in  his  mind  that  the  man  was  a  sailor 
on  the  spree.  "  Going  to  join  the  '  Merry 
Andrew  '  to-morrow,  perhaps,"  he  thought ; 
"  and  fuddling  himself,  as  most  of  'em  do 
the  first  and  last  nights  ashore.  A  rare  old 
swiller  is  Jack!  Never  knows  when  he 
has  had  enough.  Must  always  take  another 
drop." 

The  man's  thoughts  were  of  a  different 
kind.     "NVlien  he  had  turned  the  corner  of 


THE  OLD   SAILOR  SETS  MATTERS   STRAIGHT. 


119 


the  street,  he  walked  more  leisurely,  and 
drew  such  a  breath  as  one  draws  when  he 
has  escaped  a  dan'jjer.  His  first  muttered 
words  were  ''  He  diiln't  see  me;  "  his  next, 
''  What  the  devil  briii'^s  him  here  ?  "  Tliat 
liis  mind  was  disturbed  by  the  sight  of  the 
Olil  Sailor  was  evident  ihnii  his  manner ; 
and  it  was  evident  also,  by  the  wary  looks 
he  cast  about  him.  that  he  was  bent  already 
on  no  itUe  mission  and  neetled  nothing  fresh 
to  occupy  him.  "  A  good  job  it;  was  dark," 
he  muttered,  directing  his  steps  to  the  wa- 
terside ;  "  if  he  had  seen  me,  he  would 
have  been  sure  to  tell  Marvel,  and  it  might 
have  given  rise  to  suspicion.  Where  is 
that  dog  of  a  Lascar,  and  what  the  devil 
does  he  mean  by  kee])ing  me  waiting  ?  " 
The  words  were  scarcely  uttered  when  his 
face  grew  deadly  white,  and  an  ugly  twitch- 
ing came  about  the  corners  of  his  lips,  at 
what  he  saw  before  him.  It  was  merely  a 
man  and  woman  —  evidently  lovers  —  who 
were  walking  slowly  along,  in  earnest  con- 
versation. He  was  about  to  follow  them, 
when  his  arm  was  touched  by  a  new-comer, 
in  a  sailor's  dress. 

"  Here  I  am,  master,"  said  the  new-com- 
er. 

"  See  there,  you  dog !  "  exclaimed  Solo- 
mon Fewster,  pointing  to  the  lovers.  "  See 
there  !     What  brings  her  here  ?  " 

The  Lascar  looked  after  them,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "Joshua  Marvel  and  Ellen 
Taylor ! "  he  said,  with  a  careless  laugh. 
"  Doing  a  little  sweethearting  on  the  sly. 
If  you  had  the  chance,  you'd  do  the  same 
yourself.  See,  they're  turning  back  this 
way  ;  let  us  get  out  of  sight." 

They  stood  aside,  and  as  the  lovers, 
passed,  heedful  of  nothing,  conscious  of 
nothing,  but  their  own  great  happiness, 
their  faces  met,  and  a  kiss  passed  between 
them.  In  his  torment  of  jealousy,  Solomon 
Fewster  grasped  the  Lascar's  shoulder  so 
tightly  as  to  make  the  man  wince.  The 
dog  shook  himself  free  from  his  master,  and 
said,  "  Well,  he'll  be  away  soon,  and  you'll 
have  the  pretty  Ellen  all  to  yourself 
Come,  now  ;  I  don't  want  to  stop  here  all 
night.  Let  us  say  what  we've  got  to  say, 
and  be  done  with  it." 

Solomon  Fewster  walked  away  a  few 
steps  to  recover  his  composm'e,  and  when 
he  had  mastered  his  agitation,  returned  to 
the  Lascar. 

"  I  shipped  this  morning,  through  an 
agent,"  said  the  Lascar ;  "  here  are  my  pa- 
pers." 

"  It  is  too  dark  for  me  to  see  them ;  I  must 
take  your  word  that  you  have  done  what 
you  say." 

"  You  have  taken  my  word  before,  mas- 
ter, and  you  have  found  me  faithfuh     You 


keep  your  part  of  the  bargain  ;  I  shall  keep 
mine.     It  is  my  interest  to  do  so." 

"  Yes,  your  interest,"  said  Solomon  Few- 
ster, with  somewhat  of  a  bitter  emphasis. 
"  You  have  cost  me  enough,  you  dog." 

Notwithstanding  that  their  positions  of 
master  and  dog  might  have  been  appro- 
l)riately  reversed,  the  old  fiction  was  kept 
up  between  them,  with  insolent  arrogance 
on  one  side,  and  with  mock  humility  on 
the  other.  Neither  of  them  deceived  the 
other. 

"  I  might  have  cost  you  more,  master," 
replied  the  Lascar  ;  "  but  go  on." 

"  Let  us  see,  then,  if  we  are  agreed  upon 
the  position  of  matters,  and  if  we  under- 
stand one  another.  When  a  certain  thinor 
happened  last  Christmas,  which  nearly  cost 
a  whelp  his  life,  you  thought  it  necessary 
for  your  safety  "  — 

"  We  thought  it  necessary  for  our  safety," 
corrected  the  Lascar. 

"  To  take  yourself  off  somewhere,  so  as 
not  to  be  seen,  and  therefore  not  suspected. 
Out  of  sight  out  of  mind.  In  accordance 
with  that  understanding  you  went  to  a  cer- 
tain watering-place,  and  lived  at  my  ex- 
pense until  you  got  into  a  drunken  quarrel 
with  your  drunken  mates,  in  which  one  of 
them  received  a  cut  across  the  face.  The 
same  night — being  within  a  week  of  the 
present  time  —  you  thought  it  advisable  to 
leave  that  district,  and  you  accordingly  did 
so,  coming  down  here  to  Gravesend,  and 
apprising  me  that  you  were  in  danger  of 
arrest  and  in  want  of  money." 

'•  You  talk  like  a  book,"  said  the  admir- 
ing Lascar,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  came  down  to  see  you,  and  to  advise 
you  "  — 

"  Taking  such  an  interest  in  me,  master !  " 
interrupted  the  Lascar,  with  another  and  a 
louder  laugh. 

•'  And  I  told  you  that  as  in  England  a 
man  who  is  too  free  with  his  knife  is  likely 
to  be  deprived  of  his  liberty  for  a  longer 
time  than  he  would  probably  consider 
pleasant,  the  best  thing  you  could  do  —  the 
police  being  on  the  lookout  for  you  —  would 
be  to  join  a  ship  bound  for  a  distant  port, 
and  so  get  clear  of  danger.  Is  that  fahly 
stated  ?  " 

"  Pretty  fairly  for  you,  master.  It  is  for 
me  to  say,  that  so  long  as  I  am  out  of  dan- 
ger your  safety  is  secured.  But  that's  a 
matter,  of  course,  that  you  don't  think 
much  of" 

"  It  happening,  as  it  does  not  often  hap- 
pen with  such  dogs  as  you,"  continued  Solo- 
mon Fewster,  taking  no  other  notice  of  the 
Lascar's  taunt  than  was  indicated  by  a  con- 
temptuous emphasis  on  the  word  "  dogs,'' 
"  that  you  were  for  once  open  to  reason,  you 
agreed  with  me  that  it  would  be  best  for  you 


120 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


to  get  out  of  the  country.  As  luck  would 
have  it,  Joshua  Marvel's  ship,  the  '  Merry 
Andrew,'  was  shortly  to  start  for  New 
South  Wales,  and  as  part  of  the  crew  was 
to  be  en2;ac;ed  at  Gravesend,  where  you 
were  skulking  about,  you  set  your  mind 
very  strangely  upon  going  in  the  same  ship 
with  the  whelp,  and  according  to  your  own 
statement,  have  accomplished  your  desire 
to-d:iy." 

"  I  didn't  find  it  a  very  difficult  thing, 
master.  Sailors  are  none  so  plentitiil.  Go 
on." 

"  When  I  found  that  you  were  deter- 
mined to  go  in  Joshua  Marvel's  ship,  I 
bc'aring  in  mind  that  you  have  been  as 
faithliil  as  it  is  in  the  nature  of  such  a  dog 
as  you  to  be,  told  yoii  that  the  night  before 
the  ship  sails,  I  would  come  down  and  give 
you  a  i'iiw  necessaries  which  you  said  you 
required." 

"  Such  as  twenty-five  pounds  in  gold," 
said  the  Lascar. 

"  Such  as  twenty-five  pounds  in  gold," 
repeated  Solomon  Fewster,  taking  some 
packets  from  his  pocket. 

"  Such  as  a  six-bladcd  knife." 

'•  Such  as  a  si.\-bladed  knife." 

"  Such  as  anotlier  knife  with  one  blade." 

"  Such  as  another  knile  with  one  blade." 

"  Such  as  a  silver  watch  and  a  silver 
chain." 

'•  Such  as  a  silver  watch  and  a  silver 
chain." 

"  Bah  !  "  exclaimed  the  Lascar,  in  a  voice 
of  intense  scorn,  as  he  received  the  arti- 
cles, one  after  another.  "  Look  at  the  sky, 
master." 

It  was  intensely  dark  ;  the  clouds  were 
black,  there  was  no  moon,  and  not  a  star 
was  discernible.  Solomon  Fwwster  looked 
up,  and  said,  "  Well '?  " 

''  What  can  you  see,  master  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Look  at  me  "  —  he  had  walked  away  a 
i'ew  paces.     "  Can  you  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  can  see  your  form." 

'•  Not  my  face,  nor  my  eyes  ?  " 

"  No,  you  dog  !  "  answered  Solomon  Few- 
ster hotly,  for  the  Lascar's  voice  was  con- 
temptuously insolent. 

"  Bah  !  you  are  worse  than  I  am.  Too  free 
with  my  knife,  am  I  V  I  wonder  whether 
you  would  be  too  free  with  your  knile 
—  in  the  dark?  In  the  light  I  know  you 
wouldn't  be.  You  wouldn't  have  the  pluck 
to  use  it.  Look  you,  master :  the  first  part 
of  what  you  said  was  pretty  well  as  things 
happened  ;  but  the  last  part  —  Well,  jou 
and  me  know  all  about  that.  And  yet,  al- 
though we're  in  the  dark,  and  can't  see  each 
other's  face,  nor  each  other's  eyes,  you 
haven't  pluck  enough  to  tell  the  truth  ;  you 
haven't  pluck  enough  to  say  even  to  me. 


here  in  the  dark,  with  no  one  by,  that  when 
I  tbund  that  the '  Merry  Andrew  '  was  going 
to  sea,  I  said  to  you,  '  What  a  fine  thing  it 
would  be  for  me  to  go  in  the  same  ship  as 
Joshua  Marvel,  and  to  take  advanta<j;e  of 
any  thing  that  might  happen  to  do  him  a 
good  turn  ! '  and  that  then  you  mentioned  — 
quite  accidentally,  of  course  —  that  if  any 
thing  should  hajjpen  to  him  through  me, 
you  would  give  me  fifty  pounds  if  the 
'  Merry  Andrew '  came  home  without 
Joshua  Marvel.  You  haven't  pluck  enough 
to  say  jhat  then  I  said,  '  Done  ! '  ami  done  it 
was;  but  that  I  —  knowing  you,  master  — 
made  a  point  of  having  something  in  ear- 
nest of  the  bargain  —  such  as  twenty-five 
pounds  in  gold ;  such  as  a  six-bladed  knife  ; 
such  as  another  knife  with  one  blade  ;  such 
as  a  silver  watch  and  chain.  Bah  !  If  it 
wasn't  that  I  was  such  a  cursed  fool  when 
my  blood  is  up,  that  I  don't  know  what  I 
do,  and  that,  because  of  that,  it  is  safer  for 
me  to  leave  the  country  than  to  remain  in 
it,  I  would  stop  and  feed  upon  you  —  I 
Avould,  by  God  !  —  and  worry  the  heart  out 
of  such  a  coward." 

"  You've  been  drinking,"  said  Solomon 
Fewster,  with  difficulty  suppressing  his 
anger. 

'•  UTiat  if  I  have  ?  I  know  what  I  am 
saying  well  enough.  I  have  had  too  much 
of  your  airs  of  superiority,  and  of  your  lies 
and  your  acting.  Why,  do  you  think  that 
I  would  ever  have  done  your  dirty  work,  if 
it  hadn't  served  my  purpose  ?  Do  you 
think  that  if  I  hadn't  sworn  an  oath,  and 
marked  it  with  my  blood,  to  be  revenged 
upon  that  damned  upstart,  Joshua  Marvel, 
ibr  what  he  did  to  me,  I  would  go  in  his 
ship  V  Look  you  !  I  will  do  my  share  of 
the  work,  never  fear,  master ;  but  I  would 
have  done  it  for  next  to  nothing,  if  you 
were  a  man  instead  of  a  sneak  !  " 

'•  You  dog  !  "  cried  Solomon  Fewster,  in 
an  uncontrollable  burst  of  jiassion.  ''  You 
have  my  money,  ray  knives,  and  my  watch 
upon  you  at  this  moment.  I  have  haif  a 
mind  to  give  you  into  custody  for  robbing 
me." 

An  exclamation  of  anger  escaped  the 
Lascar,  and  Solomon  Fewster  cursed  him- 
self inwanlly  Ibr  his  in  judiciousness  the 
moment  the  words  had  passed  his  lips.  A 
long  silence  fbllowed.  a  silence  lengtliened 
by  Scjloraon  Fewster's  fears;  for  he  knew 
that  he  was  in  the  Lascar's  power,  and 
could  not  consider  himself  safe  while  his  dog 
was  in  the  country. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  said,  with  an 
awkward  eifort  at  conciliation  ;  "  but  you 
were  wrong  to  provoke  me." 

The  Lascar  did  not  reply,  and   Solomon 
Fewster's  alarm  mcreased  every  moment. 
"  Why  don't  you  speak  V  "  he  asked. 


THE   OLD    SAILOR   SETS   MATTERS   STRAIGHT. 


121 


"I've  been  tliinkino:,  master,"  then  said 
tlic  La.-car  wiih  a  quiet  lauizli  —  "I've 
been  thinking  that  a  man  isn't  safe  with 
sneh  a  sneak  as  you,  and  I've  made  up  my 
mind." 

«  To  what  ?  " 

"To  this  ;  and  if  you  don't  do  it.  I'll  <ro 
6trai;2;ht  to  Joshua  Alarvel  and  his  pretty 
Ellen,  and  open  their  eyes  to  what  you 
are." 

"And  ruin  yourself,"  said  Solomon  Fews- 
ter,  trembliuL^  in  every  limb  like  the  eow- 
ard  he  was. 

"And  ruin  myself,"  said  the  Lascar  com- 
posedly, ''  and  you  along  with  nie." 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing." 

'•  You  shall  see,"  said  the  Lascar,  mov- 
ing slowly  away. 

"  Stoj) !  What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  If  the 'Merry  Andrew'  returns  without 
Joshua  Marvel,  and  I,  having  done  my 
work,  come  to  you  for  my  wages,  it  isn't 
unlikely  that  you'll  hatch  some  charge 
against  me  which  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  face, 
for  you  are  rich  and  I  am  poor.  I  will  j)re- 
vent  this.  You  shall  come  with  me  now  to 
my  lodging-house,  and  you  shall  scratch 
uj)on  the  inside  of  my  watch,  "  From  Solo- 
mon Fcwster  to  his  Lascar  friend,"  and 
you  shall  give  me  a  paper  saying  as  how 
you  made  me  a  present  of  the  knives  and 
the  money  because  I  have  earned  them. 
This  is  what  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to,  and 
what  I  intend  to  have  done,  as  sure  as 
there  is  a  sky  above  us.  What's  more,  I'm 
not  going  to  have  any  palaver  about  it.  If 
you  don't  Ibllow  me  to  my  lodgings,  where 
I  am  going  this  very  minute,  I'll  peach 
upon  you,  by  God  !  " 

Without  another  word,  he  walked  to- 
wards the  town ;  and  S  jlomon  Fewster,  in 
a  tumult  of  tear  and  vain  passion,  followed 
him  to  his  lodging,  and  unwillin_dy  gave 
him  his  bond.  That  being  done,  the  Las- 
car repeated  that  he  might  be  depended 
upon  tor  fulfilling  his  task;  and  Solomon 
Fewster  took  his  leave  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  the  basest  of  dogs  consideix'd 
himself  superior  to  the  master  who  used 
him. 

Early  the  following  morning  Mrs.  Mar- 
vel came  down  to  Gravesend,  and  all  prep- 
arations having  been  made  by  the  Old 
Sailor,  Joshua  and  Ellen  were  married.  It 
was  the  quietest  and  happiest  of  weddings. 
There  were  but  two  guests  —  Mrs.  Eliza, 
in  a  blaze  of  red  ribbons,  and  Mrs.  Eliza's 
husband,  whose  futile  efi'orts  to  speak  in 
whispers  were  the  only  evidences  to  Josh- 
ua and  Ellen  that  the  events  of  the  morn- 
ing were  real.  Every  thing  but  that  irre- 
pressible voice  was  so  hushed  and  subdued, 


that  it  seemed  to  belong  more  to  a  dream  than 
any  thing  else.  But  it  was  a  hajijiy  dream, 
marred  liy  no  cloud,  made  bright  by  j)erfect 
love.  There  was  no  happier  person  in  the 
party  than  Mrs.  ISIarvel. 

'•  Now  you  are  truly  my  daughter,"  she 
whispered  to  Ellen,  "and  really  belong  to 
me." 

"  I  can't  believe  that  I  am  awake,  moth- 
er," said  Joshua  to  Mrs.  JNIarvel,  as  they 
two  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  others; 
"  yesterday  I  had  no  thought  of  this.  I  won- 
der if  Dan  is  thinking  of  me !  When  will 
you  tell  him  ?  " 

"None  of  them  will  know,  dear,  until 
Ellen  comes  back,  and  that  won't  be  until 
your  ship  is  gone.  Mr.  Meddler  says  it 
will  not  sail  for  two  days,  so  }our  honey- 
moon will  be  longer  than  you  exjjected." 

"  And  father  !  how  surprised  he  will  be  1 " 

"  He  will  approve,  my  dear,  when  I  tell 
him  all." 

When  she  told  him  all !  That  means, 
thought  Joshua,  when  she  tells  him  about 
Minnie.  But  he  said  nothing  aloud  in 
answer.  Minnie  was  in  both  his  and  his 
mother's  thoughts,  but  neither  of  them 
mentioned  her  name. 

"  Look  at  her,  Josh,"  said  ]\Irs.  Marvel, 

turning  with  affectionate    j)ride    to   where 

Ellen    stood,    hanging    tearfully  upon  the 

i  Old   Sailor's  arm;    "no  man  ever  had   a 

greater  treasure." 

Joshua,  gazing  at  the  modest  figure  of  his 
dear  little  woman,  thought  of  the  compari- 
son he  had  once  drawn  between  Ellen  and 
Minnie.  "Minnie  is  like  the  sea;  Ellen 
like  a  peaceful  lake."  Every  thing  about 
her  —  her  dress,  her  trustful  face,  the  calm 
light  in  her  eyes  —  was  suggestive  of  peace- 
ful love,  a  haven  of  refnore  from  the  storms 
of  life.  She  turned  to  him,  and  he  hurried 
to  her  side,  and  took  her  arm  on  his. 

"  Darling,"  he  whispered,  "  it  seems  too 
wonderful  to  be  real.  I  am  afraid  that  I 
shall  wake  up  presently,  and  find  that  it  is 
all  a  dream." 

Thank  God,  that  while  this  world  of 
ours  is  pulsing  with  mean  ambitions  and 
unworthy  strivings,  with  heartless  pleasures 
and  vicious  desires,  flowers  of  circumstance 
such  as  this  bloom  sometimes  in  the  lives 
of  the  poorest  among  us. 

Dinner  was  taken  in  Mrs.  Eliza's  private 
parlor  which  abounded  in  family  relics  of 
great  price,  among  which  were  especially 
consj)icuous  two  brown-stone  mandarins, 
who  wagged  their  heads  upon  the  mantle- 
shelf;  two  large  pieces  of  wliite  coral  under 
glass  shades;  some  stuffed  parrots  similarly 
protected  from  the  ravages  of  time  ;  and  an 
impossible  castle  made  with  small  shells. 
It  was  April  weather  with  all  the  company, 
and  smiles  and  tears  alternately  chaseil  one 


122 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


another.  Mrs.  Eliza's  husband  proposed 
the  toast  of  "  The  new-married  couple," 
but,  atteinptinf^  to  make  a  speech,  could 
only  c;et  out  the  words,  "  And  may  they 
ever,"  Avhicli  he  repeated  four  or  five  times, 
without  being  able  to  explain  himself.  How- 
ever, the  toast  was  drunk  not  the  less  cor- 
dially, Mrs.  Eliza's  husband  and  the  Old 
Sailor  jj^iving  three  times  three  in  hearty 
sailor  fashion.  Then,  it  being  nearly  time 
for  Mrs.  Marvel  to  go  back  to  Stepney,  the 
Old  Sailor  rose,  glass  in  hand,  and  said,  — 

"  Mi's.  Marvel,  lady,  if  you  was  my  own 
mother,  my  dear,  which  you  couldn't  be, 
seeing  that  I  am  old  enough  to  be  your 
father,  but  if  you  was  my  own  mother,  I 
couldn't  honor  you  more.  Some  women 
are  sent  into  the  world  expressly  to  be 
mothers  ;  you're  one  of  'em,  and  a  noble 
one  you  are,  and  a  credit  to  Britannia. 
Here's  may  Josh  and  his  lass  ever  be  a 
pride  to  your  heart,  lady,  as  they  have  ever 
been,  anil  may  Josh  be  a  skipper  before 
he's  thirty  1  And  if  a  rusty  old  sailor  hke 
me,  lady,  can  ever  serve  you,  my  dear,  I 
shall  be  proud  to  be  commanded  by  su.h  a 
commander." 

With  that  he  drained  his  glass,  and  turn- 
ing it  upside  down,  took  Mrs.  Marvel's 
hand  and  kissed  it,  like  the  gallant  knight  he 
was.  Amid  tears  and  embraces  and  bless- 
ings, Mrs.  Marvel  took  her  de]7arture,  es- 
corted by  the  Old  Sailor ;  and  the  lovers 
were  leil  to  their  quiet  honeymoon.  Tiie 
"  Men-y  Andrew  "  did  not  sail  until  two  days 
afterwards,  as  the  Old  Sailor  had  said.  All 
too  swiftly  flew  by  the  hours  in  that  brief 
time :  and  Joshua  and  Ellen  found  it  harder 
to  part  than  they  had  ever  done  before. 

"  I  am  pledged  to  you  forever,  darling," 
said  Joshua,  as  they  stood  together  during 
the  last  few  minutes. 

"  And  I  to  you,  dear." 

"  I  want  a  curl,  Ellen  ;  not  to  remind  me 
of  you,  but  to  have  something  of  you  al- 
ways near  me." 

She  cut  off  one  of  her  brown  curls,  and 
he  kissed  her  and  it,  and  placed  it  in  the 
Bible  Dan  had  given  him. 

"  How  shall  I  count  the  days,  darling ! 
But  I  shall  see  you  through  all  my  work. 
It  is  time  for  me  to  go.  My  undying  foith- 
ful  love  for  you.  My  undying  faithful  love 
for  Dan.  And  now,  put  your  arms  about 
my  neck,  and  say  '  God  bless  you,  and 
bring  you  safely  back  1 '  " 

"  God  bless  you,  and  bring  you  safely 
back,  my  dear,  my  heart's  treasure  !  " 

Her  strength  failed  her  here,  and  she 
was  sinking  to  the  ground. 

"  Take  her,  sir,"  said  Joshua  to  the  Old 
Sailor,  who  was  standing  a  little  apart. 
"  May  Heaven  reward  you  for  all  your 
kindness  1 "     He  stooped   and  kissed   her 


once  more,  and  whispering,  "I  leave  my 
heart  behiml  me,"  hurried  with  uneven 
steps  to  the  boat  in  waiting  for  him. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

FAI-SE   FRIEND    OK    TRUE? 

"  I  WISH  Ellen  was  at  home,"  said  Dan 
to  himself,  as  he  sat  alone  in  the  parlor 
which  served  as  his  training-room ;  "  the 
house  is  quite  lonely  without  her."  Joshua 
had  been  gone  from  Stepney  for  four  days, 
and,  knowing  how  Dan  would  miss  Ellen, 
Mrs.Mai'vel  had  insisted  thathe  should  stop 
at  her  house  during  that  time.  "  There  will 
be  no  one  to  attend  to  you,  my  dear,"  Mrs. 
Marvel  had  said  to  him  ;  "  Mr.  Kindred  is 
ill,  and  Minnie  and  Susan  are  fully  em- 
ployed waiting  upon  him."  Dan  acknowl- 
edged the  superior  claims  of  Mr.  Kindred 
on  Minnie's  and  Susan's  attention,  and  con- 
sented to  stop  at  Mrs.  Marvel's  house  un- 
til Ellen  returned.  Now  that  Joshua  was 
gone,  however,  he  could  not  help  thinking 
it  strange  that  Minnie  had  not  found  time 
to  run  in  and  see  him,  if  only  for  two  or 
three  minutes.  He  expressed  this  to  Mrs. 
Marvel,  who  replied  that  Mr.  Kindred  was 
suffering  much,  she  believed,  and  did  not 
like  Minnie  to  be  away  from  him,  loving 
her  so  dearly.  "  But  it  will  be  all  right, 
my  dear,  when  Ellen  comes  back,"  she  said, 
"  she  will  be  able  to  assist  the  girls  in  their 
nursing."  The  uneasiness  which  Dan  would 
have  otherwise  experienced  at  not  seeing 
jNIinnie  was  allayed  by  the  knowledge  that 
she  was  doing  her  duty.  Still  he  was  glad 
when  the  morning  came  upon  which  Ellen 
was  to  return ;  for  patient  as  he  was,  he 
was  hungering  to  see  Minnie.  And  now 
at  last  he  was  at  home  in  his  own  little 
parlor,  waiting  almost  impatiently  for  El- 
len. He  heard  a  sound  in  the  passage,  and 
he  raised  his  hand  in  a  listening  attitude. 
"  Ellen  ?  No ;  Susan."  The  door  opened, 
and  Susan  entered.  Accustomed  as  he  was 
to  Susan's  strange  manner  and  to  the  alter- 
ations in  it  —  morose  one  day  and  remorse- 
fully affectionate  the  next  —  he  had  never 
seen  her  as  as  he  saw  her  now.  Her  face 
was  pinched  as  with  some  great  agony,  her 
hands  wandered  restlessly  about  her  dress 
and  over  one  another,  her  eyes  dilated  as 
he  remembered  them  in  the  old  days  when 
she  was  tormented  by  the  fear  that  terrible 
shapes  were  stealing  upon  her  unaware. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  these  distressing 
symptoms  of  a  mind  disturbed  to  its  very 
uttermost,  there  was  something  stUl  more 


FALSE   FRIEND   OR  TRUE  ? 


123 


painful  in  her  appearance.  This  was  the 
eflbrt  to  n])poar  cahu  and  selt-possessed, 
evidencL'd  in  the  attempts  she  made  to  keep 
her  hands  still  and  her  eyes  i'rom  wander- 
ing around.  But  she  could  ntjt  bring  color 
to  her  whifce  lace,  nor  composure  to  her 
quivering  lips.  No  nerves  are  more  dilli- 
cult  to  master  than  those  which  directly 
affect  the  mouth,  and  many  a  hard-grained 
strong-minded  man  has  betrayed  himseh' 
by  a  twitching  of"  his  lips,  which  he  has 
found  it  impossible  to  control.  Dan  had 
not  seen  Susan  for  more  than  a  week,  and 
he  was  appalled  at  the  change  in  her.  His 
fii'st  thought  was  of  Minnie. 

"  What  has  happened,  Susan  ?  "  he  cried. 
"Minnie  is  not  ill?" 

He  betrayed  himself  in  the  tone  of 
anguish  in  which  he  made  the  incjuiry. 
Susan  twisted  her  fingers  so  tightly  together 
that  the  blood  left  them,  but  she  telt  no 
pain. 

"  ^\1iy  should  Minnie  be  ill  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  You  have  not  seen  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Thank  God  ! "  Dan  thought  to  himself; 
"  it  is  not  an.xiety  for  Minnie  that  has 
changed  her  so." 

"  And  her  father,  Susan  ?  "  he  said  aloud, 
more  softly. 

"  Her  father  !  "  exclaimed  Susan,  ap- 
proaching Dan  so  that  he  could  take  her 
hand ;  it  was  like  ice.  "  Basil !  He  is 
stricken  almost  to  death.  I  don't  know  what 
to  do ;  and  I  am  pledged,  miserable  wo- 
man that  I  am  —  I  am  pledged  not  to 
speak  ;  not  to  divulge  what  1  know  1  " 

"  Poor  Susey  !  "  said  Dan  soothin'jjly,  and 
in  a  tone  of  earnest  sympathy,  thinking  that 
Susan's  last  words  referred  to  what  the 
doctor  had  told  him  of  Basil's  heart-disease. 
"  Poor  Mr.  Kindred  !  I  am  grieved  to  the 
soul  to  hear  it." 

She  strove  to  free  her  hand  from  his 
grasp  ;  but  he  retained  it. 

"  Tell  me  about  Minnie,  Susey,"  he  im- 
plored. "Ah,  if  you  knew  how  I  am  yeai-n- 
ing  to  see  her  —  how  I  am  yearning  to  con- 
sole her  1 " 

At  this  appeal,  so  strong  a  trembling  took 
possession  of  her,  that  her  words,  to  any 
but  the  acutest  sense,  would  not  have  been 
distinguishable. 

"  You,  Dan  !  "  she  said,  tightening  her 
grasp  upon  his  hand.  "  You  yearning  to 
see  her !  You  yearning  to  console  her  I 
Why?" 

"  Susey,  you  will  help  me  when  I  tell 
you.  You  will  let  me  see  her  when  I  tell 
you.     I  love  her  !  " 

"  My  God  !  " 

A  deathlike  silence  followed,  and  Dan 
was  almost  frightened  to  break  it,  but  he 
was  constrained  by  his  fears  to  speak. 

"  There   is   a   hidden   meaning  in  your 


words,  Susan,"  he  said  in  hushed  tones, 
"  that  I  cannot  fathom.  Give  me  some  clew, 
if  you  have  any  love  for  me." 

"  I  can  give  you  nime,"  she  answered  hur^ 
riedly,  "  until  I  am  released  from  my  pledge. 
Do  not  ask  me  any  thing  else  —  1  don't 
think  I  am  conscious  of  what  I  am  saying. 
I  will  go  up  to  Basil —  to  Mr.  Kindred  — 
and  beg  of  him  to  see  you.     What  is  that  ?  " 

It  was  merely  a  knock  at  the  street-door ; 
but  in  Susan's  nervous  condition  the  sound 
was  sufficient  to  cause  her  to  start  in  alarm 
from  Dan's  side. 

"  Only  a  knock  at  the  door,  Susey.  You 
have  overtasked  yourself,  my  dear,  with 
nursing." 

Susan  hastened  to  the  street-door,  and 
Dan  heard  a  voice  ask  if  Mr.  Basil  Kindred 
lived  there.  "  Yes,"  answered  Susan. 
"  Here  is  a  letter  for  him  ;  is  it  right  ?  " 
"  Quite  right."  And  taking  the  letter  from 
the  messenger,  Susan  went  up  stairs  to  Basil 
Kindred's  room.  She  had  left  the  street- 
door  open,  and  before  another  minute  had 
passed,  sunshine  entered  the  house  —  sun- 
shine, in  the  person  of  Ellen,  who,  radiant 
with  joy,  ran  into  the  house  and  into  the 
parlor,  and  clasping  Dan  round  the  neck, 
called  him  by  the  dearest  of  names,  and 
kissed  him  again  and  again.  What  a  bright 
flower  she  was  !  What  a  lovely  flower  she 
was  !  W^hat  nameless  beauty  had  passed 
into  her  face,  that  caused  Dan  to  thrill  with 
pride  that  she  was  his  sister,  and  caused  him 
to  wonder  at  the  same  time  what  change  it 
was  that  had  come  over  her  and  added  to 
her  loveliness  ?  The  sombre  aspect  of  the 
room  was  gone ;  the  chill,  the  fear,  the 
dread  of  Susan's  meaning  was  gone  ;  the 
terror  that  had  no  reason  in  it,  as  flir  as  he 
could  see,  was  gone.  For  sunshine  had  en- 
tered the  house. 

"  O  my  dear,  dear  Dan  !  "  she  cried, 
shedding  tears  in  the  fulness  of  her  joy.  "O 
my  darling,  darling  brother  1  1  am  so 
happy  to  be  with  you  again  1  " 

She  kissed  Iiis  face  a  dozen  times  again, 
and  hid  hers  on  his  neck,  and  kissed  that 
too,  until  from  Dan's  heart,  infected  by  her 
happiness,  every  particle  of  fear  planted 
there  by  Susan's  manner  had  fled.  Truly, 
she  was  sunshine  —  the  best,  the  dearest, 
the  warmest. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Ellen  1  "  said  Dan,  re- 
turning her  affectionate  embrace,  "  how 
happy  I  am  that  you  are  back  !  I  liave 
been  thinking  how  lonely  the  house  is  with- 
out you.  But " —  holding  her  face  between 
his  hands  and  looking  at  it,  biight  and 
blushing  and  beautiful  — "  you  have  grown 
positively  lovely.  What  have  you  been 
doin'i  with  yourself  these  last  four  days  ?  " 

W^hat  had  she  been  doing  witli  herself? 
She  laughed  softly  at  the  question,  then 


124 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


ran  and  shut  the  door,  and  came  back  and 
sat  on  the  fioor  at  his  I'eet,  tucking  up  her 
dress  to  save  it  from  the  dust.  Slie  was 
in  such  a  flutter  even  then  —  takinj^ 
Dan's  liand  and  fondling  it  —  that  he 
waited  to  speak  until  she  was  more  com- 
posed. Presently  she  grew  quieter,  and 
resting  her  head  on  his  knees,  said,  — 

"  Now,  Dan,  I  am  quiet.  Ask  me  ques- 
tions." 

"  To  commence,  then,  when  did  you 
come  l)ack  V  " 

"  This  very  minute." 

"  Who  brought  you  back  ?  " 

"  JVli-.  Meddler." 

"  The  dear  old  friend  !  Why  didn't  he 
come  in  to  see  me  V  " 

"  For  reasons.  He  said  that  we  had  best  be 
left  alone,  so  that  we  might  chat.  He  is 
coming  to  see  you  to-night." 

"  When  did  Joshua's  ship  go  away  ?  " 

"  The  day  before  yesterday." 

"  Why,  you  little  puss,  you've  been  Inlay- 
ing truant !  " 

"Mr.  Meddler  persuaded  me;  and  yes- 
terday Mr.  Meddler  and  Mrs.  Eliza  and  me 
went  ibr  a  ride  in  the  country." 

"  What  a  grand  young  lady  you've  got  to 
be  !     And  Jo  !      What  about  Jo  ?  " 

She  nestled  to  him  more  caressingly  ;  and 
he,  passing  his  hand  over  her  face,  drew  it 
away,  with  tears  upon  it. 

"Crying,  Nell?  ' 

"  For  hap23iness,  Dan  —  for  very  happi- 
ness, my  dear  1  What  about  Jo,  you  ask. 
I  will  sjieak  his  exact  words  —  almost  liis 
last,  dear  —  "  '  My  undying  taithful  love  for 
Dan.'  " 

"  Dear  Jo  !  my  dear,  dearest  brother  !  " 

"  That  was  not  all  he  said,  Dan  ;  we 
were  speaking  of  you  all  the  day  —  you 
were  never  out  of  our  thoughts,  never  out 
of  his,  I  am  sure.  He  is  the  dearest  friend, 
the  truest  friend,  the  most  faithl'ul,  the  most 
constant,  that  happy  man  or  woman  ever 
had  !  " 

"  He  is  all  that  you  say,  dear  Ellen,  and 
I  thank  Heaven  for  giving  him  to  us." 

"  Any  more  cjuestions,  Dan  V  " 

"  No  ;  I  can't  think  of  any." 

"  Then  I  must  tell  you  something  Avithout 
being  asked,"  said  Ellen  :  "  I  am  the  hap- 
piest woman  in  the  world." 

She  arose,  and  standing  at  the  back  of  his 
chair,  clasped  him  round  the  neck,  folding 
her  hands  one  in  the  other,  so  that  he  should 
not  see  her  wedding-ring.  Then  she  in- 
clined her  lips  to  his  ear,  and  was  about  to 
whisper  the  precious  secret  which  made  her 
the  happiest  woman  in  the  world,  when  an 
agonized  scream  rang  through  the  house. 
With  affrighted  looks  they  turned  to  each 
other  for  an  explanation. 

"  It  is  Susan,"  said  Dan,  all  his  fears  re- 


turning. "  I  have  not  had  time  to  tell  you, 
Ellen,  but  her  manner  just  now  frightened 
me.  For  Heaven's  sake  assist  me  up  stairs  !  " 

With  his  crutch  under  one  arm,  and  his 
other  round  Ellen's  neck,  he  went  to  Basil 
Kindred's  room,  and,  pushing  open  the 
door,  entered.  Basil  Kindred  was  sitting 
motionless  in  his  chair,  before  a  table  on 
which  were  writing-materials ;  liis  head 
was  thrown  back  as  if  he  were  asleep  ;  one 
hand  was  on  his  heart,  and  the  othei',  from 
which  a  letter  had  fallen,  was  hanging  list- 
lessly down.  And  kneeling  by  his  side  was 
Susan,  with  a  look  of  horror  on  her  white 
face.  But  Minnie  !  where  was  JNIinnie  ? 
No  one  had  gone  out  of  the  house ;  if  she 
had  come  down  stairs,  Dan  must  have 
heard  her.  He  sank  into  a  chair  and  gazed 
about  him  vacantly.  It  was  not  that  the 
power  of  thought  had  left  him,  but  that  he 
was  afraid  to  think.  Susan,  rocking  her- 
self to  and  fro,  her  face  turned  away,  had 
taken  no  notice  of  their  entrance. 

"  Ask  her  where  JNIinnie  is,"  said  Dan  to 
Ellen.  He  had  tried  to  utter  the  words 
two  or  three  times,  but  his  throat  was 
parched ;  and  now  liis  voice  sounded  so 
strange  to  him,  that  he  wondered  if  he  or 
some  one  else  had  spoken. 

"  Susan  !  "  said  Ellen,  placing  her  hand 
on  Susan's  shoulder.  "  Susan,  where  is 
Minnie  V  " 

But  Susan  did  not  heed  her ;  and  Ellen 
raising  her  eyes  from  Susan's  face  to  that 
of  Basil  Kindred,  retreated  appalled  to 
Dan's  side.  It  looked  like  the  face  of  one 
to  Avhom  death  had  come  suddenly  ;  per- 
fectly peaceiul,  but  terrible  to  see.  Still 
she  found  strength  to  whisper  to  Dan,  "  Be 
strong,  my  dear,  be  strong.  Shall  I  run 
and  tetch  mother  ?  " 

"  Mother  !  "  echoed  Dan,  with  the  same 
doubt  upon  him  as  to  whether  he  or  some 
one  else  were  speaking.  "  Mother  !  Oh  ! 
IMi's.  Marvel  you,  mean  - —  Jo's  mother." 

"  Yes,  dear,  Jo's  mother  and  ours.  Shall 
I  run  and  fetch  her  ?  " 

"  No,  not  yet.  What  is  that  paper  by 
his  side  ?     Pick  it  up  ;  give  it  to  me." 

Averting  her  eyes  from  Basil's  face, 
Ellen  picked  up  the  letter  and  gave  it  to 
Dan.  "  It  is  Minnie's  writing,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"  Hark  !  "  said  Dan. 

It  was  the  cockatoo  that  Joshua  had 
brought  home  that  startled  him.  It  was 
screeching  down  stairs,  ''  Dan,  Ellen,  Min- 
nie !  Bread-and-cheese  and  kisses !  and 
kisses,  and  kisses  !  "  ending  Avith  the  usual 
running  lire  of  kisses,  until  it  lost  its  breath. 
^\Tien  the  bird  was  (]uiet,  Dan  looked  at 
the  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Minnie's  writing,"  he  said,  trying  to 
read  it ;  but  the  words  swam  in  his  fading 


THE   DEAD    WITNESS. 


125 


sight.     "  Read  it,  Ellen  ;  I  cannot  make  it 
out." 

Ellen  took  the  letter  from  his  trembling 
hand,  and  read  :  — 

"  Father,  —  I  have  not  gone  from  you 
because  I  do  not  love  you.  but  because  it 
was  my  fate  to  do  what  I  have  done.  I 
could  not  resist  it.  I  have  nothing  to  say 
in  justification  of  my  conduct,  except  the 
words  I  heard  you  use  to  Joshua  when  you 
were  telling  him  of  my  mother.  I  came 
into  the  room  while  you  were  speaking  ;  it 
was  d.irk,  and  neither  you  nor  Joshua  saw 
me.  AVhat  you  said  of  my  mother  then 
sank  into  my  mind,  and  I  can  never  forget 
it.  Do  you  remember  ?  '  She  loved  me 
and  sacrificed  herself  for  me.  Loving  me, 
she  conceived  it  to  be  her  duty  to  follow 
me  ;  she  forsook  iriends  and  family  for  me, 
and  I  bless  her  for  it.  Her  devotion,  un- 
worldly as  it  was,  was  sanctified  by  love. 
There  is  no  earthly  sacrifice  that  love  will 
not  sanctify.'  As  my  mother  did,  so  I  have 
done.  It  will  be  useless  senrching  for  me; 
for  when  you  read  this,  I  shall  be  hundreds 
of  miles  away  on  the  sea.  If  you  guess  my 
secret,  keep  it  for  the  sake  of  my  good 
name  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  my  good  name 
do  not  let  any  other  eyes  but  yours  see  this 
letter.  If  it  were  possible  for  me  to  have 
a  wish  fulfilled,  I  would  pray  that  I  might 
die  before  this  reaches  you.  On  my  knees 
I  ask  you  to  foz'give  your  unhappy 

"  ]NilNNIE." 

No  one  but  Ellen  noticed  the  entrance 
of  Solomon  Fewster  while  the  letter  was 
being  read  ;  and  she,  with  a  warning  finger 
to  her  lips,  restrained  him  by  that  gesture 
from  coming  forward.  So  he  stood  silent 
and  attentive  within  the  doorway.  As  the 
■words  came  slowly  and  painfully  from  El- 
len's lips,  each  of  them  cut  into  Dan's  heart 
like  a  knife.  Ellen  had  seen  his  sufferings, 
and  would  have  ceased  reading,  but  that 
he  motioned  her  to  proceed. 

"  So,  then,"  said  Dan,  after  a  long  and 
painful  pause,  "  IMinnie  is  gone.  What 
have  I  to  live  for  now  ?  I  would  have  been 
content  if  she  had  only  been  near  me  ;  if  I 
could  have  heard  her  voice  or  the  rustle  of 
her  dress  to  assure  me  of  her  beloved  pres- 
ence. "Without  that,  my  life  is  dark  in- 
deed.    But  where  has  she  gone  ?  " 

He  asked  the  question  of  himself;  but 
Susan,  starting  to  her  feet,  answered  him. 

"  AVh'ire  has  she  gone  V  Where  else  but 
to  sea  in  the  '  ]\Ierry  Andrew,'  with  your 
false  friend  Joshiui  Marvel  V  And  the 
knowledge  of  it  has  killed  her  father  1 " 

"  It  is  false  !  "  cried  Dan  in  a  clear  ring- 
ing voice.     "  It  is  false,  you  bad  sister  !  " 

"  It  is  true,  Daniel  Taylor,"  said   Solo- 


mon Fewster  in  his  smooth  oily  voice.  "  I 
have  here  a  letter  from  a  sailor  on  board 
the  '  Merry  Andrew,'  informing  me  that 
Minnie  and  Joshua  are  on  the  same  ship." 

At  this  corroborative  testimony,  Susan 
fell  upon  her  knees,  and  raised  her  arms. 

"  Curse  that  false  friend !  "  she  cried. 

But  Ellen  fell  at  her  side,  exclaiming, 
"  O  Susan,  Susan,  restrain  your  tongue  I 
For  all  our  sakes  —  for  my  sake  !  lie  is 
my  husband  I  " 

Whereat  Solomon  Fewster,  upon  whose 
face  there  had  hitherto  been  an  ill-concealed 
expression  of  triumph,  crushed  the  letter 
he  held  in  his  hand,  and  muttered  a  bitter 
curse. 

And  Dan,  folding  Ellen  in  his  arms, 
said,  — 

"  Hush,  my  sister,  hush  1  Blessings  on 
your  wedding-ring  I  Blessings  on  your 
husband  and  my  true  friend !  AVe  shall 
live  to  see  him  give  the  lie  to  slanderous 
tongues.  I  have  something  to  live  for  now 
—  to  defend  the  honor  of  my  brother !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE     DEAD     "WITNESS. 

When  Ellen  felt  the  comforting  protec- 
tion of  Dan's  arms,  and  heard  the  words  to 
which  he  gave  utterance  in  the  nobility  of 
his  soul,  the  despair  by  which  she  had  been 
overwhelmed  vanished  like  snow  before  the 
sun,  and  left  her  an  unhappy,  but  not  a 
hopeless  woman. 

'•  This,  then,  was  your  secret,"'  said  Dan 
to  her,  as  she  lay  in  his  arms;  "your  mar- 
riage with  Jo.  It  is  the  proof  of  his  faith- 
fulness, my  dear.  For  me,  I  needed  none. 
No  heart  but  mine  can  judge  my  friend  ;  no 
tongue  shall  malign  him  unanswered  while 
I  am  by." 

"  Good,  noble  brother,"  she  sobbed,  "  to 
comfort  me  thus  in  the  midst  of  your  own 
great  grief!  I  do  not  doubt  him;  I  love 
him  —  love  him  —  love  him  I  My  faithful 
darling  1 

The  reproachful  looks  she  cast  at  Solo- 
mon Fewster,  no  less  than  the  passionate 
tenderness  of  her  words,  stung  him  to  the 
soul.  In  truth  he  had  received  a  severe 
blow.  AAlien  the  Lascar's  letter  was  deliv- 
ered to  him,  and  he  read  the  amazing  news 
that  ^linnie  ■\vas  on  board  the  ''  Meriy  An- 
drew," he  exulted  in  the  triumjih  that 
awaited  him.  "  Ellen  is  mine,"  he  thought. 
"  That  fool  of  a  whelp  has  played  straight 
into  my  hand  !  "  As  such  mean  souls  aa 
Fewster's  delight  in  detecting  the  meanness 


126 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


of  others,  he  was  rejoiced  at  the  thought 
that  Joshua  had  been  playing  false  with 
Minnie,  although,  before  reading  the  Las- 
car's scrawl,  he  had  no  suspicion  of  it.  He 
walked  to  Dan's  house  exultant,  and  deemed 
himself  fortunate  in  being  in  time  to  wit- 
ness the  tragic  scene  in  Basil  Kindred's 
chamber.  But  when  he  heard  Ellen's  dec- 
laration that  Joshua  was  her  husband,  a 
groan  of  despair  escaped  him,  and  he  be- 
came almost  desperate  in  the  sudden  and 
unexpected  dashing  down  of  all  his  hopes. 
This  feeling  lasted'but  a  very  little  while. 
His  scheming  mind  was  busy  at  work  cal- 
culating the  chances  for  and  against  him, 
and  rays  of  light  soon  illumined  the  dark- 
ness. "  If  the  Lascar  keeps  his  word,  and 
Joshua  does  not  return,"  he  thought,  "  all 
may  yet  be  well."  Even  when  Ellen  flung 
at  him  the  words,  "  I  love  him  —  love  him 
—  love  him  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  Believ- 
ing that  he  will  come  back  to  vindicate 
himself     We  shall  see." 

Notwithstanding  this  conflict  of  thought, 
his  professional  instinct  led  him  to  the  side 
of  the  inanimate  tbrm  of  Basil  Kindred. 
He  placed  his  ear  and  hand  to  the  dead 
man's  heart;  and  then,  with  heartless 
solemnity  he  lifted  the  gaunt  form  in  his 
arms,  and  laid  it  on  the  bed.  Susan's  eyes 
asked  him,  "  Dead  'i  " 

"  Dead,"  he  answered  aloud.  "  It  looks 
like  a  sudden  stroke." 

Dan  covered  his  face;  and  Ellen  shud- 
deringly  turned  her  e}es  from  Solomon 
Fewster. 

"  It  is  not  my  fault,"  he  said,  as  if 
Ellen's  looks  conveyed  an  accusation. 
"  Neither  this,  nor  the  letter  I  have 
received.  It  would  not  have  been  the  act 
of  a  friend  to  keep  such  a  thing  to  himself. 
What  would  you  have  thought  of  me,  if 
you  had  discovered  that  I  had  received 
such  a  letter,  and  had  concealed  it  ?  " 

"  No  one  accuses  you,  sir,"  said  Dan 
sadly.  "  Indeed  how  could  you  be  to 
blame  ?  These  things  have  come  of  them- 
selves, and  from  no  fault  of  ours.  But," 
and  his  eyes  kindled,  and  he  laid  his  hand 
soothingly  on  Ellen's  head,  "  we  will  have 
no  word  spoken  against  Jo.  He  is  dearer 
to  us  absent  than  present ;  he  is  dearer  to 
us  now,  when  Susan's  voice  accuses  him, 
and  when  you  come  to  add  your  testimony 
to  hers,  than  he  has  ever  been  before." 

"  I  liave  not  come  to  add  my  testimony 
to  hers,"  said  Solomon  Fewster,  with  a 
well-assumed  warmth  of  manner.  "  It  is 
no  testimony  of  mine  ;  it  is  no  accusation 
of  mine.  This  letter  surprised  and  grieved 
me  almost  as  much  as  it  has  you." 

"  May  I  see  the  letter,  sir  V  " 

"  Certainly."  He  had  almost  said  "  with 
pleasure,"  but  checked  himself  in  time. 


Dan  took  the  letter,  which  was  written 
an  an  uneven  and  dirty  piece  of  paper, 
and  read  aloud  :  — 

"  Master,  —  Joshua  Marvel  has  run 
away  with  a  young  woman  that  lives  in 
Daniel  Taylor's  house  —  him  as  trains  the 
birds.  They  are  both  of  'em  on  board  the 
'  Merry  Andrew.'  I  send  tliis  by  the  pilot, 
and  told  him  that  you  would  pay  him  for 
putting  it  into  your  hands.  My  faiihful 
service  to  you.  When  I  come  back,  I 
hope  to  get  what  you  promised  me. 

"  Aboard  the  '  Merry  Andrew.' " 

"  There  is  no  name  to  it,"  said  Dan. 
"  Who  sent  it  ?  " 

"  A  sailor  on  the  ship,"  replied  Solomon 
Fewster ;  "  a  man  who  has  done  odd  jobs 
for  me,  and  whom  I  have  assisted." 

"  But  how  does  he  know  me  ?  " 

"  Through  the  birds,  and  through  my 
telling  him  of  you,  I  suppose.  He  has 
been  in  the  street  often,  and  knows  who 
live  in  the  house.  He  is  a  failbful  honest 
fellow,  and  I  dare  say  thought  it  his  duty 
to  tell  me  about  Miss  Kindred,  so  that  I 
might  acquaint  her  friends." 

" '  "When  I  come  back,  I  hope  to  get 
what  you  promised  me,'  "  said  Dan,  read- 
ing from  the  letter. 

"''I  promised  him  money  if  he  brought 
home  some  foreign  birds,"  answered  Solo- 
mon Fewster  readily,  "  such  as  parrots  and 
cockatoos,  and  other  likely  birds,  for  you  to 
train  for  me." 

Meanwhile  Susan  had  covered  the  dead 
man's  face,  and  sat  moaning  on  the  floor. 
To  her  Dan  addressed  himself,  calling  her 
by  name ;  but  it  was  not  until  he  had 
i-epeated  it  two  or  three  times  that  her 
attention  was  aroused.  She  took  her 
hands  from  before  her  eyes,  and  looked  at 
him  vacantly.  There  was  no  sign  of  in- 
telligence in  her  face  as  she  spoke ;  it 
seemed  as  if  the  light  of  reason  had  fled, 
and  as  if  the  words  she  uttered  belonged 
to  a  lesson  she  had  learned  and  was  foi-ced 
to  repeat. 

'•  I  promised  him  faithfully  and  sacredly 
—  yes  ;  they  are  the  very  words :  he  made 
me  say  them  after  him,  '  Faithfully  and 
sacredly,'  —  that  I  would  never  tell  unless 
his  tongue  was  sealed,  and  the  time  came 
when  it  was  necessary  to  speak.  Is  the 
time  come  V  " 

"  It  is,  Susan,"  said  Dan,  a  new  fear  at 
his  heart ;  "  it  is  come." 

"  Is  the  time  come  V  "  she  repeated,  turn- 
ing to  the  motionless  form  on  the  bed,  and 
waiting  for  the  answer  in  the  awful  silence 
that  followed.  "  I  was  the  only  one  he 
truste<l.  Not  a  soul  but  me  was  to  come 
into    the  roomj    and  they   didn't  —  no  I 


THE   DEAD   WITNESS. 


127 


kept  my  promise  faithfully  and  sacredly. 
He  said  to  me,  '  If  I  die,  and  Joshua 
Marvel  has  betrayed  my  daughter,  <x'nc. 
this  book  to  Dau,  and  te-U  him  it  contaius 
the  words  of  a  dying  man.' "'  She  rose  to 
her  feet,  and  taking  a  book  which  was 
lying  on  tlie  desk,  gave  it  to  Dan.  "  Now 
you  can  tell  him,  when  he  asks  you,  that  I 
obeyed  him  to  the  last,  iiuthfuUy  and 
sacredly." 

A  listening  expression  flashed  into  her 
face,  and  slie  inclined  her  body  to  the 
door.  With  feverish  haste  she  ran  down 
stairs  and  into  the  street ;  but  returned 
presently,  muttering,  "She  is  not  come; 
tlicre's  no  sign  of  her;  "  and  resumed  her 
station  by  the  side  of  the  bed. 

It  is  night,  and  Dan  is  sitting  alone  in 
his  bedroom.  An  unopened  book  is  before 
him  :  it  is  the  book  that  Susan  gave  him 
by  Basil  Kindred's  desire.  He  has  not 
read  a  line  in  it.  Between  him  and  Ellen 
it  has  been  tacitly  agreed  that  whatever  is 
written  in  it  shall  be  read  by  them,  and  by 
them  alone,  at  night.  Another  book  is 
also  before  him :  it  is  a  Bible,  and  it  is 
open. 

Dan  is  waiting  for  Ellen.  The  grief 
that  reigns  in  the  house,  and  in  that  of 
Mrs.  Marvel,  cannot  be  written  here.  It  is 
too  deep,  too  overwhelming  for  expression. 
Mrs.  ISIarvel  is  in  the  house  now.  All  that 
she  knows  is  that  Basil  Kindred  is  dead, 
and  that  Minnie  is  gone :  she  has  no 
knowledge  of  the  terrible  suspicion  that 
hangs  like  a  deadly  cloud  over  the  good 
name  of  her  beloved  son.  But  the  news 
of  the  death  and  the  flight :  they  could  not 
be  concealed,  although  no  one  is  aware 
how  they  became  known  :  has  gone  forth 
into  the  neighborhood ;  and  little  knots  of 
the  neighbors  have  hung  about  the  house 
all  the  evening  and  night,  discussing  the 
strange  events.  Even  now,  notwithstand- 
ing that  it  is  near  midnight,  a  dozen  street- 
doors  are  open,  each  with  its  assemblage 
of  gossippers,  chiefly  feminine,  prattling, 
not  at  all  sorrowfully,  about  the  wonderful 
news.  There  is  much  head-shaking  and 
raising  of  hands ;  but  whatever  may  be 
the  meaning  of  this  play  of  heads  and 
hands,  it  certainly  does  not  express  grief 
The  neighborhood  is  rather  bare  of  histori- 
cal events;  and  those  that  have  just 
occurred  are  godsends.  Given  to  the 
neighbors  round  about  the  merit  of  all  the 
kindliness  of  heart  they  deserve,  they 
really  enjoy  their  gossip,  and  show  their 
enjoyment  of  it.  A  stranger  walking 
through  the  street  might  have  reasonably 
supposed  that  the  dwellers  therein  had 
been  making  general  holiday. 

Dan's  face  is  very  pale  as  he  sits,  with  no 


sign  of  impatience  upon  him,  expectant  of 
Ellen's  coming.  The  door  opens,  and  Mrs. 
Marvel  enters.  She  draws  (hjwn  theljlind  — 
the  moonlight  has  been  streaming  in  upon 
his  face,  giving  it  a  more  painfid  j)allor 
than  that  whicli  rests  on  it  when  the  moon 
is  shut  out  —  and  sits  down  l)y  his  side  in 
silence  for  a  while.  She  draws  his  head 
upon  her  breast,  and  kisses  hiin ;  his  arm 
steals  round  her  neck,  and  he  sheds  tears, 
and  kisses  her  in  return  ;  but  few  words 
pass  between  them. 

"  Susan  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  She  is  in  bed,  my  dear,"  she  answers. 

"  Has  she  said  any  thing  ?  "  he  asks  anx- 
iously. 

"  She  has  not  spoken,  my  dear." 

He  gives  a  soft  sigh  of  relief.  She  knows 
that  he  is  waiting  for  Ellen,  and  she  will 
not  linger.  She  kisses  him  again  in  her 
motherly  way,  and  bids  him  good-night ; 
and  soon  alter  Ellen  enters  the  room. 

A  great  change  has  taken  place  in  Ellen. 
All  the  girlishness  has  gone  out  of  her 
face,  and  in  its  stead  is  an  expression  of 
quiet  trustfulness  in  which  there  is  much 
sadness,  but  no  doubt.  It  is  as  though  she 
is  prepared  to  defend  and  believe  in  her 
husband's  honor,  though  all  the  world  con- 
demn him.  She  closes  the  door  gently, 
and  draws  a  chair  next  to  Dan.  Then 
those  two  fiiithful  souls,  to  each  of  whom 
the  bitterest  of  trials  has  come,  look  into 
each  other's  eyes,  and  are  comforted  by 
what  they  see.  They  exchange  no  words 
of  sympathy  ;  none  are  needed  from  one  to 
the  other.  They  make  no  effort  to  conceal 
their  sorrow ;  it  must  be  borne,  and  they 
must  sutler.  But  for  Joshua's  sake,  and 
for  Minnie's,  they  must  be  brave  and  hope- 
ful. 

Does  Ellen  acknowledge  this,  and  in 
her  heart  of  hearts  is  she  disposed  to  be 
generous  to  the  unhappy  girl  who  has 
brought  this  great  misery  upon  them  V  Yes 
—  she  feels  nothing  but  pity  tor  Minnie. 
The  influences  which  actuate  mental  feel- 
ing are  so  delicate  and  various,  that  it  is 
difficult  even  to  the  most  profound  of  pa- 
thognomists  to  dissect  the  commonest  of 
motives,  and  rightly  account  for  it.  We 
all  pride  ourselves,  in  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, upon  our  knowledge  of  character, 
and  believe  that  we  know  full  well  what 
prompted  So-and-so  to  do  such-and-such  a 
thing.  But  in  truth,  in  nothing  do  we  show 
more  ignorance  than  in  arrogating  to  our- 
selves the  power  of  divining  character  and 
motive.  Strive  as  we  may  to  be  just  and 
calm  and  reasonable  —  strive  as  we  may  to 
banish  for  the  time  the  small  feelings  of 
uncharitableness  which  we  are  conscious 
of  harboring,  and  which  necessarily  warp 
our  judgment  —  we  must  from  very  necessi- 


128 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


ty  argue  in  a  certain  measure  from  our  own 
point  of  view.  Otherwise  we  should  be 
infallible,  and  juries  would  never  return  a 
wrong  verdict,  and  judges  would  never 
commit  an  error  of  judgment.  Otherwise 
rogues  would  have  their  due  ;  and  some  of 
them  would  not,  as  they  do  now,  live  in 
fine  liouses,  and  eat  and  drink  of  the  best. 
It  is  impossible  to  put  yourself  in  another 
man's  place. 

Most  women  in  Ellen's  situation  would 
have  thought  of  Minnie  with  inexorable 
animosity.  Not  so  Ellen.  The  knowledge 
that  Dan  loves  Minnie  would  alone  have 
been  sufficient  to  disarm  harsh  or  bitter 
feeling.  But  that  influence  is  not  neces- 
sary. She  has  the  firmest  faith  in  Joshua's 
honesty  and  virtue,  and  firmly  believes 
that  when  lie  returns  home,  please  God,  all 
will  be  explained.  In  the  mean  time,  her 
duty  is  clear.  Joshua's  good  name  is  at 
stake.  In  face  of  all  adverse  circumstance 
and  sentiment,  she  must  uphold  it,  and  de- 
fend It  if  necessary. 

Thus  it  is  that  as  she  and  Dan  sit  look- 
ing sadly  at  each  other,  Dan  is  comforted 
by  what  he  sees,  and  she  is  no  less  so. 
Their  mutual  foith  in  the  purity  of  the  ab- 
sent dear  ones  is  inexpressibly  consoling  to 
them.  Unconsciously  eacli  gives  to  the 
other  strength  to  bear  the  bitterness  of  tlie 
shock.  But  when  their  eyes  turn  to  the 
book  which  they  are  to  read  to-ni^ht,  they 
hesitate  and  tremble,  What  may  not 
those  dumb  pages  reveal  !  The  place,  the 
time,  and  all  its  surrounding  circumstances 
are  solemn  and  mournful.  Tlie  presence 
of  Death ;  the  silence  that  strikes  greater 
terror  than  brazen  tongue  of  accusation  ; 
the  gloom  of  the  mean  apartment,  in  the 
corners  of  which  lurk  fears  made  awful  by 
the  black  shadow  which  inwraps  them  — 
these  things  and  their  infiuence  impress 
with  a  deeper  sadness  those  two  young 
hearts.  What  wonder  that  they  hesitate 
and  tremble  as  they  look  upon  the  book  in 
which  the  words  of  their  dead  I'riend  are 
recorded  ?  Josliua  is  on  the  sea,  and  each 
moment  adds  to  the  distance  that  separates 
Lim  from  his  friends  ;  Minnie  is  gone  also  ; 
Basil,  alas,  is  dead ;  and  all  that  remains 
to  light  the  mystery  is  the  dumb  witness 
that  lies  before  them.  But  hesitation  soon 
yields  to  indomitable  faith. 

"  Ellen,"  says  Dan,  laying  his  hand  upon 
the  book,  "  perhaps  the  worst  of  this  day's 
trials  is  here.     Are  you  prepared  for  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dan,"  answers  Ellen  with  a  steady 
light  in  her  eyes. 

"  Susan's  words  were  very  dreadful," 
continues  Dan ;  "  but  she  does  not  know 
Jo  as  we  know  him.  Come,  we  will  read 
what  is  here  written.  And  if  it  accuses 
your  dear  husband  and  my  dear  friend,  our 


hearts  will  defend  him.  His  memory  will 
be  dearer  to  us  because  he  is  unjustly  ac- 
cused ;  and  we  will  wait  hopefully  and  pa- 
tiently for  his  return,  please  God,  and 
never,  never  waver." 

And  drawing  Ellen  closer  to  him,  Dan 
openetl  the  book,  and  in  a  subdued  voice 
read  what  follows. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BASIL    KIXDRED's    DIARY. 

I  MAKE  this  record  for  various  reasons, 
the  strongest  of  which  is  the  conviction  that 
I  have  not  long  to  live.  Although  my 
mind  is  in  a  state  of  sad  confusion,  what  I 
write  shall  be  no  phantasy  of  the  brain.  I 
pledge  myself  to  this.  And  I  pledge  my- 
self also  to  throw  down  my  pen  when  the 
suspicion  comes  upon  me  that,  because  of 
my  fears  and  my  agony,  I  am  writing  what 
is  not  strictly  the  fact.  If  I  do  not  thug 
pledge  myself,  and  death  comes  upon  me 
unaware,  this  mute  witness  might  be  the 
cause  of  bringing  undeserved  unhappiness 
to  persons  whose  conduct  towards  me  has 
been  wonderfully  good  and  noble. 

Let  me  read  what  I  have  written.  Yes, 
it  is  clear,  and  it  gives  me  the  assurance 
that,  to-day  at  least,  I  shall  be  able  to  ex- 
press myself  clearly.  I  pause  over  every 
word.  I  am  careful  of  the  construction  of 
every  sentence.  For  I  mu§t  be  just.  I 
could  not  rest  in  my  grave  if  my  fear  spoke 
instead  of  my  reason. 

AVliat  is  it  tliat  immediately  prompts  me 
to  commence  this  record?  A  letter  — 
signed  by  no  name,  delivered  by  I  know- 
not  whom.  The  writing  is  strange  to  me ; 
I  have  never  before  seen  its  like.  It  lies 
before  me  now,  upon  my  desk. 

It  is  nia;ht.  I  am  alone,  and  Minnie  is 
at  Mrs.  Marvel's  house.  Let  me  carry 
back  my  thoughts  to  the  time  wlien  I  first 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  good  peo- 
ple with  whom  I  have  lived  for  years  — 
for  many  happy  years  —  during  which 
Minnie  has  grown  from  a  child  to  a  woman. 

I  hail  left  her  at  home,  poor  child  !  hungry 
and  unhappy.  She  had  asked  me  in  the 
morning  for  food,  and  I  had  none  to  give 
her,  nor  any  money  to  buy  it  for  her.  The 
previous  niglit  we  had  eaten  our  last  piece 
of  bread.  I  went  out  of  our  little  room, 
tolling  her  I  was  going  to  get  food  for  her. 
I  toiled  in  the  streets  all  the  day,  and  was 
not  fortunate  enough  to  receive  a  penny. 
My  sufferings  were  great,  almost  too  great 
for  human  endurance,  but  I  was  compelled 


BASIL  KINDRED'S  DIARY. 


129 


to  bear  them  for  the  sake  of  INIinnie. 
Nothing  but  the  consfiousnoss  that,  if  I 
wont  home  without  food,  my  child  mi;^ht 
die  from  want,  supported  me.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  I  was  in  tlie  streets  declaiming, 
when  some  boys  among  the  crowd  which 
surrounded  me  threw  stones  at  me.  One 
of  the  stones  wounded  me  in  the  forehead, 
and  I  think  I  must  have  fainted.  Two 
persons  came  to  my  assistance  —  .a  woman 
and  a  boy.  The  woman  was  Susan  Taylor, 
the  boy  was  Joshua  Marvel.  They  assisted 
me  home,  and  the  next  thing  I  remember 
was  Susan  bathing  my  wound  and  making 
tea  for  me.  The  boy  Joshua  had  brought 
in  some  food  lor  us.  My  gratitude  was 
great,  for  his  charity  had  saved  my  child. 
I  blessed  him  that  night  before  he  left  us. 

From  that  time  he  was  a  constant  visitor 
to  our  wretched  lodging,  and  from  that 
time  I  never  knew  want.  I  grew  to  love 
him.  He  was  to  be  a  sailor,  and  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  listen  to  the  enthusiastic 
outpourings  of  his  mind.  He  had  a  friend, 
Dan,  whom  I  had  not  then  seen  ;  and  the 
loving  manner  in  which  he  spoke  of  that 
friend,  seemed  to  me  to  be  an  assurance  of 
the  goodness  of  his  own  heart.  He  was  the 
principal  subject  of  conversation  between 
me  and  my  daughter,  and  she,  dear  child ! 
grew  to  love  him  too.  Before  he  went  to 
sea,  the  woman  Susan  Taylor  —  the  sister 
of  Joshua's  friend  Dan  —  came  to  live  in 
the  house  in  which  I  lodged,  and  was  very 
kind  to  us.  Joshua  went  to  sea,  and  I  felt 
a  void  in  my  heart  as  if  I  had  lost  a  son. 
Minnie  grieved  as  much  as  I  did  —  perhaps 
more  —  for  she  had  never  had  a  companion, 
and  Joshua's  visits  were  looked  upon  as  a 
kind  of  holiday.  We  consoled  ourselves 
for  our  loss  by  speaking  of  him  often  and 
by  looking  forward  to  his  return  home. 
Minnie  derived  much  pleasure  irom  a  child- 
ish conceit  in  which  she  indulged.  She 
had  a  shell,  and  she  used  to  place  it  to  her 
ear  and  listen  to  the  soft  singing,  to  remind 
her  of  the  sea  and  of  Joshua,  she  said.  I 
thought  it  was  a  pretty  fancy ;  but  had  I 
feared  then  what  I  fear  now,  I  would  have 
crushed  the  shell  to  powder  beneath  my 
heel. 

Some  time  after  Joshua  left,  circum- 
stances occurred  which  caused  me  to  re- 
move to  the  house  of  Joshua's  friend  Dan. 
I  was  loath  to  do  so  when  it  was  first  pro- 
posed by  Susan  ;  but  the  argument  used  by 
Susan,  who  was  devoted  to  us,  that  Minnie 
would  have  a  companion  of  a  suitable  age 
in  her  sister  Ellen,  prevailed  upon  me. 
That  was  the  sole  cause  of  my  removal  to 
the  house  in  which  I  am  now  living.  I  had 
reason  to  be  grateful  for  the  change. 
Minnie,  who  used  to  have  many  unhappy 
moods,  was  happy  and  cheerful  in  the  so- 


ciety of  her  new  friends.  And  I  was  x\o/ 
less  so.  I  found  that  Joshua's  jiarents 
were  good  simple  people  whom  to  know 
was  to  love.  A  girl  could  have  had  no 
better  companion  than  Ellen,  who  is  one  of 
the  pearls  of  womanhood.  But  before  them 
all,  I  learned  to  love  J>an.  I  had  never  met 
with  so  pure  a  mind,  with  so  constant  a  na- 
ture. A  cripple  almost  from  his  birth,  it 
seemed  as  if  the  good  (lod  had  endued  him 
with  the  purest  thought  and  the  sweetest  dis- 
position to  compensate  for  the  misfortune  he 
had  met  with.  He  might  truly  say,  with  our 
great  poet,  "  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  ad- 
versity." 

Some  happy  years  passed,  during  the 
whole  of  which  Joshua  was  at  sea.  At  rare 
intervals  letters  from  him  were  received, 
and  the  perusal  of  these  letters  gave  us  all 

—  for  we  were  like  one  family  —  the  great- 
est pleasure.  At  length  he  returned.  It 
is  not  long  since  —  but  a  few  short  weeks 

—  that  he  arrived  home.  He  was  expect- 
ed, but  not  so  soon.  His  coming  wag 
eagerly  looked  for  —  he  was  the  hero  of  the 
two  houses.  The  night  of  his  return  was 
memorable.  It  was  Christmas-eve,  and  we 
were  all  assembled  in  Mrs.  Marvel's  kitchen, 
celebrating  the  blessed  time  with  joyful, 
grateful  hearts.  Minnie  persuaded  me  to 
read  a  play.  I  chose  the  "  Tempest,"  that 
loveliest  creation  of  the  poet's  mind.  She  is 
not  present,  but  I  can  see  her  as  she  unloosed 
her  hair  and  stood  before  me,  bright  and 
bewitching  as  Ariel  could  have  been.  "  Do 
you  love  me,  master?"  she  asked.  I  an- 
swered in  the  words  of  Prospero,  "  Dearly, 
my  delicate  Ariel."  ...  I  resume  my  pen, 
which  I  had  laid  aside,  thinking  that  I 
was  being  betrayed  by  my  feelings,  and 
that  I  was  indulging  in  an  exaggeration  of 
sentiment.  But  no.  I  have  read  over 
what  I  have  written,  and  I  am  satisfied. 

I  was  in  the  midst  of  the  lovely  story 
when  a  knock  came  at  the  street-door. 
Minnie  went  out  of  the  room  to  open  the 
door.  A  silence  followed.  Presently  a 
scream  struck  fear  to  all  our  hearts.  We 
ran  up  stairs,  and  found  that  Joshua,  having 
returned  sooner  than  he  was  exj)ected,  had 
been  stabbed  by  a  coward's  hand  when  his 
foot  was  on  the  threshold  of  his  home.  Tlie 
house  of  joy  was  turned  into  a  house  of 
mourning.  I  have  no  need  to  set  down 
here  the  events  of  the  next  few  weeks,  that 
bring  me  to  the  present  day.  Sufficient  to 
say  that  Joshua  lingered  for  some  time  be- 
tween life  and  death,  and  to  the  joy  of  all  of 
us  was  declared  out  of  danger  three  weeks 
ago.  I  have  been  confined  to  my  chamber 
with  my  old  complaint  nearly  the  whole  of 
that  time.  Susan  has  attended  to  me 
chiefly ;  for  seeing  Minnie's  anxiety  to  as- 
sist Mrs.  Marvel  in  her  trouble,  I  have  al- 


130 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


lowed  her  to  be  much  away  from  me.  Al- 
thout^h  IMinnie  has  not  spoken  of  it,  I  have 
learned  that  she,  according  to  the  doctor's 
statement,  saved  Joshua's  life  by  pressing 
her  lips  to  the  wound  in  his  neck  and  stop- 
ping in  some  measure  the  effusion  of  blood, 
which  might  have  been  fatal  to  him.  It 
gave  me  pleasure  to  hear  this ;  for  no  ser- 
vice, purposed  or  accidental,  could  pay  for 
the  kindness  we  have  received  from  the  good 
people  with  whom  we  have  lived  so  happily. 

So  !  I  have  temperately  set  down  all  tliat 
has  occurred  up  to  the  present,  or  rather  up 
to  four  days  ago,  when  I  received  the  letter 
which  lies  before  me  now.  I  will  not  at- 
tempt to  describe  the  effect  it  had  upon  me. 
It  seemed  to  change  the  current  of  my  blood. 
If  there  be  truth  in  it,  is  there,  can  there  be, 
truth  in  man  ?  Before  pinning  it  in  the 
book,  I  copy  it  word  for  word  :  — 

"  A  well-wisher  warns  Mr.  Basil  Kin- 
dred that  Joshua  Marvel  is  playing  false 
with  his  daughter.  The  writer  has  no  pur- 
pose to  serve  in  writing  this,  and  does  not 
wish  to  be  known.  The  information  he 
gives  is  given  in  kindness.  Minnie  Kindred 
loves  Joshua  Marvel,  who  takes  every  secret 
opportunity  that  presents  itself  to  prosecute 
his  bad  designs  upon  a  simple  girl.  It  is 
right  that  Mr.  Basil  Kindred  should  be  made 
acquainted  with  the  real  character  of  the 
hypocrite,  who  is  fair  to  a  man's  face  and 
false  behind  his  back." 

With  some  girls  and  with  some  people, 
the  best  way  to  do  with  such  a  letter  would 
be  to  show  it  to  those  concerned.  But  I 
dare  not  do  this.  It  would  bring  unhappi- 
ness  and  mistrust  among  these  confidino- 
good  people. 

And  I  fear  for  Minnie.  I  fear  that  the 
writer,  whoever  he  may  be,  is  right  when  he 
says  that  my  dai-ling  child  loves  Joshua. 
And  I,  knowing  her  nature,  feel  that  if  un- 
happily she  has  contracted  a  love  for  Joshua, 
the  discovery  of  it  in  this  manner  would 
bring  misery  upon  her  for  life.  No ;  she 
must  not  see  the  letter  —  must  not  have  a 
suspicion  of  it. 

AH  Joshua's  previous  life  contradicts  the 
accusation.  '  It  was  the  simplicity  and  kind- 
liness of  his  nature  that  attracted  me  to  him. 
If  he  is  fair  to  a  man's  face  and  false  behind 
his  back,  he  is  false  to  his  friend  Dan  ;  and 
I,  knowing  Dan's  heart,  know  that  there 
could  be  no  blacker  treachery  than  that ;  for 
I  have  at  times  suspected  that  Dan  loves  ray 
Minnie.  Yes  ;  I  may  tell  that  secret  to  tiiis 
mute  friend,  although  I  have  never  other- 
wise whispered  it.  On  one  particular  night 
when  we  were  all  assembled  together,  read- 
ing a  letter  from  Joshua,  and  when  Mr. 
Praiseworthy  Meddler  was  tracing  the 
course  of  Joshua's  ship  upon  the  map,  I  de- 
tected in  Dan's  manner  something  more  than 


a  feeling  of  friendship  for  Minnie.  Since 
then,  other  small  evidences  have  forced 
themselves  upon  me,  and  I  have  not  been 
unprepared  for  the  disclosure  of  Dan's  love. 
Would  it  be  a  good  thing  for  Minnie  ?  Yes  ; 
if  she  returned  his  love.  Although  he  is  a 
cripple,  she  could  have  no  better  mate  :  he 
is  all  that  is  noble  and  good,  and  he  would 
make  her  happy,  if  she  could  learn  to  love 
him. 

If  she  could  learn  to  love  him  !  These 
words  have  caused  me  to  think  if  Minnie 
could  ever  learn  to  love  —  have  caused  me 
to  ask  myself  if  love  is  not  intuitive  to  her, 
as  it  was  to  her  mother.  My  anxiety  is 
deepened  by  the  thought.  I  am  afraid  to 
think  fm-ther. 

Every  thing  depends  upon  Joshua.  If  she 
loves  him,  and  he  encourages  her,  he  is  false 
to  his  friend,  false  to  honor.  My  duty  is 
plain.  I  must  watch  first,  and  discover  if 
or  there  be  any  foundation  for  the  accusation, 
if  it  emanates  from  spite  and  vindictiveness. 

I  close  the  book  and  lock  it  in  my  desk, 
for  fear  other  eyes  than  mine  should  see  what 
I  have  written. 

Notwhhstanding  the  bodily  pain  I  have 
suffered,  I  have  so  far  controlled  it  as  to  visit 
Mrs.  Marvel's  house  during  the  last  three 
days,  and  to  sit  with  the  young  people  as  if 
nothing  ailed  me.  I  am  beset  with  doubt. 
I  know  not  what  to  think.  I  have  watched 
every  look,  every  movement;  and  I  am 
afraid  that  my  anxiety  has  caused  me  to  be 
uncivil  and  abrupt.  I  do  not  think  that  any 
one  but  Mrs.  Marvel  has  noticed  my  anxiety 
or  any  change  in  me  ;  but  I  have  observed 
her  somtimes  look  at  me  questioningly,  as  if 
wondering  at  my  changed  manner. 

That  Minnie  has  an  affection  for  Joshua 
is  certain  :  she  strives  to  prevent  it  being 
observed,  and  I  think  no  one  suspects  her. 
li  there  is  any  secret  understanding  between 
her  and  Joshua,  I  have  not  discovered  it. 
He  treats  her  kindly  and  affectionately,  but 
he  is  chiefly  attentive  to  Ellen.  But  still 
the  letter  says  that  he  avails  himself  of 
"  every  secret  opportunity  "  to  see  her.  If 
that  be  true,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would 
betray  himself  in  the  presence  of  his  friends. 
I  must  act  upon  the  results  of  my  observa- 
tion. I  must  endeavor  to  keep  Minnie  from 
visiting  Mrs.  Marvel's  house  so  frequently  ; 
it  may  prevent  her  feelings  from  ripening 
into  love.  In  a  few  weeks  Joshua  will  be 
away,  and  then  all  danger  will  be  over  for  a 
time.  I  am,  indeed,  loath  to  believe  any 
wrong  of  him  ;  he  seems  to  have  preserved 
the  simplicity  of  character  and  the  goodness 
of  heart  for  which  I  used  to  admire  him. 

I  am  glad  I  commenced  this  record  ;  for 
my  thoughts  are  often  very  confused,  and 
my  memory  is  impaired. 


BASIL  KINDRED'S  DIARY. 


131 


Although  my  uneasiness  increases  with 
respect  to  Minnie,  I  have  heard  good  news  : 
Joshua  is  engajred  to  be  niarriixl  to  Ellen. 
Do  I  need  any  other  jjroot'of  Joshua's  hon- 
esty ?  It  would  be  monstrous  it'  1  did  ;  and 
yet  I  cannot  regard  him  with  the  old  feel- 
ings ot'ati'ection,  lor  jNlinnie  is  unhappy,  and 
he  is  the  cause.  One  day  I  accuse  my<elf" 
of  injustice  towards  hiiu  ;  another  day  I 
almost  hate  him,  and  curse  the  circum- 
stance that  made  me  and  Minnie  ac- 
quainted with  him.  ^Vould  to  God  that  he 
were  gone  !  Every  hour  that  he  stops  is 
an  additional  agony  to  me. 

Minnie  has  been  sullen  and  rebellious 
because  I  have  sometimes  prevented  her 
from  going  to  Mrs.  Marvel's  house.  She 
has  not  always  obeyed  me.  I  must  speak 
more  firmly  to  her  ;  "  I  must  be  cruel  only 
to  be  kind." 

A  day  of  agony.  I  have  not  been  able 
to  leave  my  room.  Minnie  was  with  me 
all  the  morning  :  but  before  she  came  to 
me,  I  had  received  another  communication, 
in  the  same  handwriting  as  the  last.  It 
contained  but  a  few  words,  — 

"  The  friend  who  warned  Mr.  Basil 
Kindred  before,  warns  him  again.  Joshua 
Marvel  is  a  smooth-tongued  villain.  In  his 
character  of  a  hero  he  is  playing  false  with 
two  simple  girls  at  one  time." 

Who  can  this  friend  be?  I  have  no 
friends  out  of  these  two  houses.  But  who- 
ever he  is,  he  is  right,  I  fear,  as  to  Minnie, 
and  may  be  right  as  to  Joshua  —  the  mere 
writing  of  the  name  gives  me  pain.  The 
receipt  of  the  few  words  I  have  just  copied 
opened  my  wounds,  and  they  bled  afresh. 
I  detained  Minnie  with  me  all  the  morning; 
and  when  she  wanted  to  quit  the  room,  I 
invented  pretexts  to  induce  her  to  remain. 
She  was  not  at  her  ease ;  I  saw  that  plainh'. 
Once  or  twice  I  am  afraid  that  I  sjDoke 
harshly  to  her ;  but  she  was  painfully  sub- 
missive —  almost  humble.  At  length  she 
rose,  with  the  intention  of  leaving  the  room. 
I  asked  her  where  she  was  going.  She  an- 
swered, to  see  Mrs.  Marvel.  I  grasped  her 
hand,  and  bade  her  resume  her  seat.  She 
asked  me  why  I  did  not  wish  her  to  go  to 
Mrs.  Marvel's  house ;  and  when  I  said  it 
was  because  I  thought  she  troubled  the 
Marvels  too  much,  all  the  hardness  and 
obstinacy  in  her  nature  came  into  play,  and 
she  answered  in  a  voice  that  might  have 
come  from  lips  of  stone,  that  that  was 
not  my  reason,  and  that  I  was  hiding  some- 
thing from  her.  For  the  first  time  I  be- 
trayed myself.  I  asked  her  if  she  was  not 
hiding  a  secret  from  me  ;  and  she  returned 
me  an  evasive  reply.  She  left  the  room, 
and  I  was  about  to  follow  her,  when  I  was 
seized    with    a     terrible     dizziness.      My 


strength  deserted  me,  and  I  was  afraid  I 
was  about  to  die.  The  attack  passed  away, 
and  left  me  as  weak  as  a  child. 

I  pause  in  my  recital  of  the  day's  events 
to  make  two  declarations.  The  first  is,  that 
I  ain  certain,  from  my  sensations  this  day, 
that  a  sudden  shock  would  be  fatal  to  me  ; 
I  am  afraid  that  my  heart  is  diseased.  The 
second  is,  that  if  Idle  suddenly,  and  Joshua 
has  betrayed  my  child,  he  is  my  murderer 
in  the  sight  of  God  and  man  —  as  much  my 
murderer  as  if  he  were  to  come  into  the 
room  this  moment  and  plunae  a  da^iier  in 
my  lieart ! 

How  awful  are  these  words  1  As  I  look 
at  them,  they  seem  to  rise  in  judgment 
against  me.  "  Thou  shalt  not  bear  false 
witness  against  thy  neighbor."  Am  I  bear- 
ing false  witness  against  Joshua  ?  Am  I  to 
be  the  cause  of  bringing  unhappiness  to 
fHends  but  for  whom  Minnie  and  I  might 
have  perished  from  hunger  V  Still  do  I 
cling  to  the  hope  that  lives  in  uncertainty. 
Still  do  I  strive  to  believe  that  my  fears 
have  grown  without  reason,  and  that  they 
are  like  the  monstrous  shadows  that  mock 
us  on  the  Avails  and  ceiling  of  a  room  whose 
only  light  is  a  flickering  tire.  Above  every 
other  consideration,  I  must  be  just.  If  no 
eye  but  mine  reads  these  lines,  I  shall  have 
done  no  harm  in  writing  them.  If  it  should 
happily  result  that  Minnie's  love  is  not 
deeply  rooted  —  if  it  should  happily  result 
that  Joshua  has  not  been  tampering  with 
her  affections,  and  that  he  goes  away  spot- 
less, as  I  Avould  fain  believe  him  to  be  — 
let  me  determine  to  destroy  this  record.  It 
tjiust  be  done.  Determining  to  do  this  — 
willing  it  Avith  the  whole  strength  of  my 
mind  —  I  shall  be  able  to  do  it  even  before 
I  am  stricken  down,  if  it  be  feted  that  I  am 
to  die  suddenly.  Should  it  be  otherwise  — 
should  he  prove  to  be  false  —  this  record 
shall  remain  as  an  evidence  of  his  treacher- 
ous heart. 

When  Minnie  left  me,  and  I  discovered 
that  I  was  too  feeble  to  follow  her,  I  thought. 
Oh,  if  I  had  some  one  I  could  trust  —  some 
one  to  help  me  !  And  as  I  thought,  Susan 
entered  the  room.  In  her  I  confided  ;  to 
her  I  told  my  fears  ;  and  after  pledging  her 
sacredly  to  secrecy,  I  showed  her  the  letter 
I  have  received.  She  has  promised  to 
watch  Joshua,  and  she  will  be  faithful. 
Now  I  shall  know  whether  I  have  cause  for 
fear ;  now  I  shall  know  whether  Joshua 
Marvel  is  false  or  true. 

I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  be  able  to 
leave  my  room.  It  is  more  than  a  week 
since  I  wrote  in  this  book.  True,  I  have 
had  nothing  to  say  until  now.  Minnie  has 
been  tender  and  affectionate  to  me ;  she 
has  been  absent  at  various  times  during  the 


132 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


day  ;  but  when  she  is  with  me,  she  is  all 
that  a  child  should  be.  I  have  left  her  free 
to  come  and  go,  knowing  that  Susan  was 
watching  that  she  should  come  to  no  harm. 
I  sometimes  think  that  she  is  fighting  with 
her  soul ;  tor  a  new-born  sadness  has  settled 
upon  her  face.  Yestei-day  I  saw  her  sit- 
ting bv  the  window,  with  her  hands  clasped 
in  her" lap,  and  a  deep-seated  sorrow  in  her 
eyes.  I  have  seen  her  mother  sit  so  in  the 
old  days  long,  long  ago  —  in  the  old  days 
that  seem  to  belong  to  another  life.  I  had 
been  asleep;  and  when  I  awoke,  I  saw 
Minnie  wrestling  with  her  sorrow.  I  called  to 
her  twice  before  she  heard  me ;  and  when 
she  came  to  my  side,  she  had  the  air  of  one 
who  has  been  suddenly  aroused  from  a 
dream.  Darling  child,  I  pray  to  God  to 
o-ive  you  strength  to  bear  alHiction,  if  it 
comes  to  you  !  K  any  sacrifice  that  I  could 
make  would  lessen  your  pain,  how  gladly 
would  I  make  it ! 

Last  night  Susan  slept  with  her,  and  in 
her  sleep  heard  her  murmur  Joshua's  name. 
It  proves  that  he  is  in  her  thoughts  ;  but  it 
proves  nothing  more.  I  hear  a  step  upon 
the  stairs,  (iood-night,  dumb  witness  of 
my  grief! 

How  shall  I  commence  ?  All  my  pulses 
Are  throbbing  with  rage  and  apprehension. 
Proof  has  come.  Joshua  ]\Iarvel  is  a 
damned  false-hearted  villain  ! 

I  write  with  pain  and  difficulty.  My 
heart  is  beating  so  violently,  that  I  am 
obliged  to  stop  to  calm  myself,  for  fear  of 
consequences.  Calm  myself!  Can  I  do 
it?  1  nuist.  I  will  lay  down  my  pen,  and 
wait  until  I  have  subdued  the  tumult  of 
passion  which  rages  within  me. 

Sol  I  am  calmer.  It  is  well  that  I 
stopped,  or  what  the  doctor  warned  me  of 
mi"-ht  have  occurred.  And  I  want  to  live 
—  Oh,  how  I  want  to  live  ! 

Susan  is  sitting  in  the  room  with  me  ; 
for  I  am  afraid  of  being  alone,  to-night  of 
all  nights.  I  am  glad  that  I  have  kept  this 
record  ;  I  am  glad  that,  if  I  die  suddenly, 
the  guilt  of  an  infamous  recreant  will  be 
brought  to  light  by  means  of  this  evidence. 

About  noon  to-day  —  I  am  writing  this 
at  night  —  Minnie  brought  a  doctor  to  my 
bedside.  I  had  steadily  refused  to  see  one 
before;  for  I  knew  what  I  was  suffering 
from,  and  I  knew  that  the  doctor's  art  was 
powerless  to  cure  me>  But  I  was  not  dis- 
pleased that  Minnie  brought  him ;  it  was 
her  anxiety  and  love  —  for  she  does  love 
me  —  that  caused  her  to  disobey  my  wishes. 
I  sent  Minnie  out  of  the  room,  so  that  I 
might  speak  to  the  doctor  in  private.  He 
told  me  nothing  new ;  as  well  as  suffering 
from  rheumatism  and  low  fever,  I  have 
heart-disease.     He  told  me  what  I  abready 


knew  —  that  I  might  die  suddenly,  without 
any  other  furewarnings  than  those  I  have 
already  received.     He  went  away  after  ut- 
tering the  usual  platitudes.      Late  in  the 
afternoon  I  fell  asleep  ;  and  when  it  was 
dark,  I  heard  a  step  in  the  room ;  asking 
who  was  there,  Joshua's  voice  answered  me. 
I  spoke  to  him  bitterly  out  of  the  bitterness 
of  my  heart,  and  he  answei'ed  me  quietly 
and  feelingly.    He  said  he  had  noticed  with 
sorrow  that  I  was  changed;  that  he  was 
not   conscious  of  having  done  any  wrong. 
He  begged  that  I  would  be  to  him  as  I  was 
before  lie  first  went  to  sea,  and  when  I  had 
blessed  him.     I  could  not  see  his  face  ;  but 
his. voice  was  tremulous  with  emotion;  and 
when  he  appealed  to  my  sense  of  justice,  I 
softened   to   him,   for  I   had   no   evidence 
against  him  but  the  suspicion  which  had 
been  created  by  the  warning  letters  I  had 
received.     I  had  it  fii-st  in  my  mind  to  tell 
him  all ;  but  my  pride  and  my  considera- 
tion  for  Minnie's   feelings   restrained   me. 
Instead  of  doing  that,  I  resolved  to  probe 
him  ;  and,  that  my  agitation  might  not  be- 
tray me,   I  refused  to  have  a  light.     We 
spoke  in  the  dark.    I  elicited  from  him  that 
he  was  engaged  to  Ellen,  whom   he  de- 
clared he  loved  before  all  the  world.    Upon 
that,  his  hand  in  mine,  I  wished  him  the 
happiness  that  faithful  love  deserves.  When, 
after  that,  Minnie  became  the   subject  of 
conversation,  there  was  a  hesitancy  in  his 
manner  that  aroused  my  slumbering  suspi- 
cions.    Then  I  spoke  so  plainly  to  him  — 
though  telling  him  nothing  about  the   let- 
ters —  that  he  could  not  have    misunder- 
stood me.     I  told   him  that  my  heart  was 
diseased,  and  that  I  could  not  live   much 
longer.     I  told  him  that  I  was  tortured  by 
anxiety  for  Minnie's  future  ;  that  she  needed 
guidance  and  control ;  that  she  knew  only 
one  duty  —  the  duty  of  love  ;  and  that  she 
could  scarcely  understand  that,  under  cer- 
tain circumstances,  love  may  be  sinful.     I 
told  him  that  she  was  changed,  that  she 
was  hiding  something  from  me,  and  that  I 
was    afraid    some     such    love    as    I    had 
spoken  of  had  come  to  her.     And  when  I 
asked  him  if  he  knew  \>v  suspected  to  whom 
that  love  was  given,  he  was  silent,  and  did 
not  answer  me.     Was  not  that  silence  suffi- 
ciently damning?     I  asked  liim  if  he  were 
concealing  any  thing  from  me,  and  he  equiv- 
ocated.   What  should  he  conceal  from  me  ? 
he  asked.     At  that   answer  I  almost  gave 
up  hope  ;  but  my  child's   happiness  was  at 
stake,  and  I  persevered.     I  resolved  to  tell 
him  the  story  of  my  life,  that  he  might  learn 
how  Minnie's  mother  sacrificed  herself  for 
love  ;  that  he  might  learn   what  Minnie's 
nature,  being  like  her  mother's,  really  was ; 
and   to  what  extent  she  would  go  where 
her  heart  was  engaged.     It  was  an  appeal 


BASIL  KINDRED'S   DIARY. 


133 


to  liim  for  mercy.    How  has  he  treated  that 
apjieal  ? 

I  told  him  the  story  of  my  Hfe  ;  I  laid 
bare  my  heart  to  liiin.  I  lived  over  again 
the  ajiony  of  my  wife's  death.  I  told  him 
that  Minnie  was  like  her  mother,  without 
her  mother's  teaching  ;  that  the  impulse  of 
her  mind  was  under  the  control  of  the  im- 
pulse of  her  heart ;  that  those  who  knew 
it  must  guide  her  gently,  tenderly ;  and 
that  if  any  man  betrayed  her,  he  would 
have  to  answer  for  it  at  the  Judgment-seat. 

Could  tongue  speak  more  plainly  than 
mine  did  ?  Could  any  man  who  was  not 
totally  devoid  of  honor  and  humanity  have 
listened  to  my  trembling  words  unheed- 
ingly  ?  I  appreciate  at  its  proper  worth 
the  code  of  morality  by  which  many  heart- 
less men  are  guided ;  but  I  never  believed 
it  possible  that  man  could  be  so  base  as 
Joshua  has  proved  himself  to  be.  Here  is 
a  proof  of  his  villany.  Within  a  few  min- 
utes after  my  story  was  ended  —  within  a 
few  minutes  after  he  left  my  room,  cry- 
mg  in  sympathy  with  me — he  was  fond- 
ling Minnie  in  the  passage  below.  Susan 
can  prove  it.  They  were  in  the  dark,  and 
Susan  came  up  from  the  kitchen  with  a 
lighted  candle,  and  discovered  them.  Their 
hands  were  in  each  other's  clasp  ;  and  when 
Joshua  Marvel  saw  the  light  and  Susan, 
he  turned  away  his  head,  so  that  she  should 
not  see  his  face.  They  parted  on  the  mo- 
ment ;  and  Susan,  not  appearing  to  notice 
them,  passed  them  by,  and,  faithful  woman 
as  she  is,  came  straight  to  me,  and  told  me 
what  she  had  seen. 

"  Fair  to  a  man's  face,  and  false  behind 
his  back  "  —  ay,  that  he  is  !  But  not  for 
him,  for  whom  my  indignation  can  find 
no  fitting  name,  do  I  care.  For  Minnie 
are  all  my  thoughts.  How  can  I  act 
towards  her  ?  How  can  I  warn  her  V 
Tell  her  that  he  is  false  !  that  he  is  lying 
to  her !  that  to  listen  to  him  is  shame ! 
She  would  smile  at  my  words  ;  and  if  sV. 
dared  not  scorn,  would  pity  the  tongue  that 
uttered  the  calumny.  I  must  think ;  J 
must  think.  In  the  mean  time,  she  must 
not  be  allowed  to  go  about  without  being 
closely  watched.  Susan  will  do  that  for 
me.  It  will  not  be  for  long.  He  will  be 
away  soon,  thank  God ;  and  when  he  is 
gone,  I  can  resolve  what  to  do.  Perhaps 
he  may  never  come  back.  With  all  my 
heart  I  pray  —  No,  I  dare  not  pen  the 
words.  The  thought  of  Ellen  and  Dan,  and 
his  gentle  mother,  stops  me.  I  give  them 
here  my  heartfelt  thanks,  for  all  their  noble 
kindness  to  me  and  Minnie.  But  for  him  — 
the  treacherous  son,  the  false  friend,  the 
perjured  lover  —  I  vow  never  willingly  to 
look  upon  his  face  again. 

My  passion  has  exhausted   me.     I  turn 


to  the  first  page  of  this  record,  and  I  see 
there  the  pledge  that  I  would  throw  down 
my  pen  when  the  suspicion  came  upon  me 
that  because  of  my  fear  and  my  agony  I 
am  writing  what  is  not  strictly  the  fact.  I 
read  over  what  I  have  written  this  night; 
and  I  solemnly  declare  that  every  word  is 
true,  as  1  hope  to  meet  my  wife  in  heaven ! 
But  a  few  words  more.  When  I  return 
this  book  to  my  desk,  I  shall  tell  Susan  to 
place  it  in  Dan's  hands,  if  I  die  before  Min- 
nie is  safe.  A  step  upon  the  stairs  I  It  is 
my  darling  child's  !  — 

Another  day  of  misery  has  passed,  and  I 
have  received  farther  damning  proof  that 
Joshua  Marvel  is  tampering  with  Minnie's 
affections.  In  my  present  state  of  mind, 
it  will  be  best  forme  to  write  down  Susan's 
statement,  word  for  word.  I  cannot  trust 
myself.  I  call  her  to  me,  and  bid  her  re- 
late, without  passion,  and  without  preju- 
dice, what  she  saw  to-day.  What  follows 
is  from  her  own  lips. 

Susan's   Statemext. 

"  I  noticed  this  morning  that  Minnie  was 
more  restless  than  usual.  Whenever  I 
looked  at  her,  she  looked  at  me  back  again; 
as  much  as  to  say,  what  do  jou  mean  by 
staring  at  me  in  that  way  ?  I  coukln't  help 
thinking  that  she  knew  I  was  watching  her 
and  I  felt  uncomfortable.  But  I  watched 
her  for  all  that,  as  I  promised  you  I  would. 
Wlien  she  went  out  of  the  room,  I  made 
believe  that  I  wanted  to  go  out  too.  Now 
I  think  of  it,  she  must  have  gone  out  of  the 
room  on  purpose  to  try  me  ;  because  the 
second  time  I  followed  her,  she  turned  upon 
me  in  the  passage,  and  looked  at  me  in 
such  a  manner  that  I  was  frightened.  Be- 
tween eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  I  was  in 
the  kitchen,  helping  to  cook  the  dinner ; 
and  when  I  came  up  stairs,  Minnie  was 
gone  from  the  house.  I  ran  round  to  Mrs. 
Marvel's,  and  she  wasn't  there.  Scarcely 
knowing  what  to  do,  I  slipped  on  my  bon- 
net and  shawl,  and  went  into  the  streets  to 
look  for  her.  All  at  once  it  came  into  my 
mind,  that  if  I  should  find  her  anywhere 
it  would  be  at  the  docks,  where  Joshua's 
•^hip  was,  and  where  Joshua  was  working. 
I  ran  there  as  hard  as  ever  I  could,  and  just  at 
the  entrance  of  the  docks  I  caught  sight  of 
Minnie.  I  was  regularly  out  of  breath,  and 
my  only  fear  now  was  that  she  might  see 
me.  So  I  kept  out  of  the  way  as 
much  as  I  could,  and  followed  her  cjuietly. 
When  she  got  near  the  ships  she  stopped 
shoi't ;  and  presently  Joshua,  who  was  look- 
ing over  the  side  of  his  ship,  as  if  he  was 
expecting  some  one,  came  down  to  where 
shf^  was  standing,  and  began  talking  to  her. 


184 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


He  seemed  a  little  bit  uneasy  —  perhaps, 
because  there  were  so  many  people  about, 
and  because,  I  thought,  he  didn't  want  Mn- 
nie  to  be  noticed,  for  all  the  workmen  and 
sailors  were  staring  at  her.  They  went  up 
a  plank  on  to  Joshua's  ship ;  and  Joshua 
had  his  arm  round  her  waist.  They  stood 
by  the  side  of  the  ship,  looking  towards  the 
river,  talking  together.  I  never  took  my 
eyes  off"  them,  and  I  am  certain  —  though, 
of  course,  I  couldn't  hear  them  —  that  they 
were  talking  of  something  very  particular. 
All  at  oncel  lost  sight  of  them  ;  they  had 
gone  to  a  part  of  the  ship  where  I  couldn't 
see  them.  I  think  they  must  have  been 
out  of  my  sight  tor  nearly  a  quarter  of  an 
hour ;  and  "when  they  returned,  Joshua 
looked  to  the  place  where  I  was  standing 
by  the  side  of  some  large  cases,  and  came 
oiF  the  ship  towards  me.  I  was  frightened 
that  he  would  catch  me,  and  I  ran  away. 
When  I  was  safe,  I  turned,  and  saw  Joshua 
and  Mnnie  together  coming  from  the  ship. 
.  Minnie  walked  out  of  the  docks  by  herself, 
and  I  followed  her  home,  and  waited  in  the 
street  a  little  before  I  went  into  the  house 
after  her.  But  I  no  sooner  got  inside  the 
door,  than  Minnie  met  me  in  the  passage  ; 
she  hadn't  taken  her  bonnet  off".  I  didn't 
seem  to  notice  her ;  but  she  came  into  the 
kitchen  after  me.  '  Where  have  you  been, 
Susan  ?  '  she  asked  me,  so  sudden-like  that 
I  was  almost  taken  otF  my  guard.  '  Out 
for  a  walk,'  I  said.  '  Have  you  been  to 
the  docks  ? '  she  asked  me.  '  No,'  I  said ; 
but  I  felt  my  face  turning  red  as  I  told  the 
story.  I  thought  she  was  done  with  her 
questions  ;  but  she  soon  commenced  again. 
*  Are  you  going  out  again  ?  '  she  asked.  I 
said.  No,  I  wasn't.  '  /  am,'  she  said  ;  '  I  am 
going  out  for  a  walk.'  And  she  ran  up 
stairs  and  out  of  the  house.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do ;  and  I  came  to  you,  and  you 
told  me  not  to  watch  her  any  more  to-day." 

It  is  evident  that  Minnie  is  suspicious  of 
Susan,  and  I  know  that  Susan  is  no  match 
for  her.  Ill  as  I  am,  I  can  see  but  one  thing 
to  do  —  I  must  wait  and  hope.  That  the 
innate  goodness  and  purity  of  Minnie's 
heart  will  keep  her  from  harm,  is  my  ear- 
nest prayer.  I  will  be,  if  possible,  more  ten- 
der and  loving  to  her  than  I  have  hitherto 
been.  I  dare  not  speak  plainly  to  her  ;  I 
believe,  if  I  did,  that  she  would  go  away 
from  us,  and  we  should  never  see  her  again. 
If  I  were  well,  it  would  be  diff"erent.  I 
should  take  her  from  here  until  Joshua 
Marvel  had  sailed. 

What  can  I  say  of  him?  It  is  clear  that 
Minnie  went  to  the  docks  by  appointment, 
and  that  he  expected  her.  I  have  appealed 
to  him  vainly.  After  what  passed  between 
us  —  after   the  knowledge   he  has   gained 


that  I  am  aware  of  his  treachery  —  he  has 
shown  himself,  in  this  clandestine  meeting 
with  Minnie,  to  be  totally  devoid  of  honor. 
I  leave  him  to  his  conscience  and  to  the 
judgment  of  his  friends.  May  occasion 
never  come  for  them  to  learn  how  they  are 
deceived  in  him  1 

Two  days  more  have  passed.  In  a  week 
Joshua  Marvel's  ship  sails.  I  believe  from, 
that  moment  I  shall  begin  to  grow  better. 
Then  I  shall  make  new  plans  for  the  future. 
The  future  !  Alas,  my  future  on  earth  will 
soon  come  to  an  end  1  See  how  I  contra- 
dict myself  One  moment  saying  that  I 
shall  begin  to  get  better  when  Joshua  is 
gone ;  the  next,  that  my  end  must  soon 
come.  But  'tis  in  the  nature  of  such  a  state 
of  i'eeling  as  mine  to  be  hopeful  one  minute, 
and  despondent  the  next.  The  best  thing 
for  Minnie  would  be,  that  she  should  be 
impressed  and  touched  by  Dan's  love  for 
her  —  of  the  existence  of  which  I  am  sure, 
having  thought  much  of  Dan's  manner  to- 
wards her  —  and  that  she  should  consent  to 
marry  him.  It  is  not  certain  that  she  loves 
Joshua  ;  after  all,  nearly  the  whole  —  nay, 
the  whole  —  of  the  evidence  is  circumstan- 
tial. It  is  but  natural  that  she  should  have 
an  aff"ection  for  him  ;  the  nature  of  the  in- 
timacy, his  kindness  to  her  and  me,  the 
very  circumstances  attendant  upon  his  re- 
turn home,  make  that  a  necessity.  Indeed, 
indeed,  it  would  be  most  unnatural  if  an 
aifection  did  not  exist  between  them.  The 
mere  writing  of  these  words  is  comforting 
to  me.  I  know  that  they  are  at  variance 
with  much  that  I  have  previously  written  ; 
but  at  one  time  I  am  writing  out  of  my  de- 
spair, at  another  time  out  of  my  hope.  I 
write  now  out  of  my  hope.  Joshua  Mar- 
vel will  soon  be  gone,  and  I  am  assured 
that  no  farther  meeting  has  taken  place  be- 
tween him  and  Minnie.  Minnie's  behavior 
to  me  has  been  most  kind.  She  is  growing 
more  and  more  like  her  mother  every  day. 
There  appears  to  have  arisen  in  her  some 
consciousness  that  my  claims  to  her  love 
are  more  binding  upon  her  than  those  of 
any  other  person.  I  have  passed  some 
very  happy  hours  with  her. 

She  said  a  strange  thing  to  me  this 
morning.  "  Father,  do  you  think  I  should 
make  a  good  actress  ? "  The  question 
startled  me,  for  it  brought  back  to  me  some 
memories  of  my  past  lite.  Minnie,  when  a 
little  child,  was  often  in  her  mother's  arms 
in  the  theatre  where  I  happened  to  be  play- 
ing ;  her  mother  would  be  waiting  for  me  per- 
haps, and  would  not  leave  our  little  darling 
alone  in  the  room.  Minnie  has  no  definite 
remembrance  of  those  times  and  circumstan- 
ces, I  think  ;  but  shadowy  impressions  of  the 
scenes  she  then  almost  unconsciously  wit- 


BASIL  KINDRED'S  DIARY. 


135 


ncssed  are  stamped  upon  licr  miixl.  Upon 
tliis  theme  I  questioiu'd  lier  soiiiewbnt  curi- 
ously this  morniiij;,  and  i'ounil  that  these  ex- 
periences had  had  their  eilect  upon  her,  and 
that  she  lias  vau;ue  remembrances  of  bi'au- 
titiil  creatures  beautifully  dressed,  walkini^ 
in  gardens  in  the  midst  of  light.  Ah,  if 
she  were  aware  of  the  reality  1  If  she  knew 
what  jioor  struggling  men  and  women  these 
beautiful  creatures  were,  and  what  a 
mockery  were  the  beautiful  dresses  and  the 
lovely  gardens  in  which  they  lived  their 
artificial  lives  !  But  1  did  not  disenchant 
her.  Life  is  bitter  enough  ;  if  a  gleam  of 
brightness  can  be  thrown  upon  it  by  the 
indulgence  of  a  harmless  fancy,  it  is  good. 
In  the  midst  of  our  conversation,  Minnie 
suddenly  lett  the  room,  and  in  about  half 
an  hour  returned  completely  metamor- 
phosed. She  went  out  of  the  room  a  fair 
lovely  girl ;  she  returned  a  dark  tawny  wo- 
man, looking  at  least  half  a  dozen  years 
older ;  but  still  beautiful,  very  beautiful.  I 
gazed  at  her  in  wonder.  By  what  means 
had  she  effected  such  a  marvellous  change 
in  herself?  She  explained,  first  asking  me 
if  I  knew  her  again.  Knew  her  again  ? 
Could  she  by  a,ny  disguise  hide  herself  from 
my  knowledge  ?  But  suppose  I  had  only 
seen  her  once  in  my  life,  she  asked,  then  did 
I  think  I  should  have  known  her  again  V  I 
did  not  exactly  know  how  to  answer  that, 
and  although  she  pressed  me  to  give  her  an 
answer,  I  could  not.  I  was  delighted  to 
see  her  in  the  new  light  in  which  she  pre- 
sented herself  to  me ;  it  was  almost  an  as- 
surance that  some  portion  of  my  fears  was 
groundless.  She  explained  to  me  that  in 
the  box  containing  her  clothes  were  some 
remnants  of  the  wherewithals  I  once  used 
in  my  profession,  such  as  colors  and  a  few 
wigs.  I  had  forgotten  them,  not  having 
had  occasion  for  them  for  so  long  a  time. 
And  she  confessed  that  she  had  often 
amused  herself  with  these  things.  Indeed, 
in  the  middle  of  her  explanation  she  stoop- 
ed and  hid  herself  from  my  sight,  and  rose 
in  the  wig  I  used  to  wear  when  I  played 
'"Hamlet."  She  had  tucked  up  her  beauti- 
ful hair  with  the  skill  of  an  actress,  so  that  it 
was  completely  hidden  by  the  wig  ;  and  as 
she  stood  betbre  me,  I  saw  in  her  some 
shadowy  resemblance  of  myself  as  I  was  in 
days  gone  by.  I  could  not  but  be  delighted 
with  her  light  humor;  it  almost  entirely 
dispelled  my  fears.  Then  she  took  oft'  the 
wig,  and  washed  the  color  out  of  her  face, 
and  sat  by  my  bedside  quietly.  I  am  used 
to  her  variable  moods,  and  therefore,  al- 
though I  was  sorry  to  see  that  her  sportive- 
ness  had  fled,  and  that  a  more  serious  mood 
took  its  place,  I  was  not  surprised.  Never 
in  all  her  life  has  she  shown  me  such  ten- 
derness as  she  exhibited  towards  me  this 


day.      "I  shall  always  love   you,  fiither," 
"'•"    said    to    me,   more   than  once.     Dear 


to    me,   more   tnan  once, 
child  !    Darling  treasure  of  my  heart  1 
good  angels  guard  you. 


All 


The  cup  of  happiness  is  dashed  from  my 
lips.  Something  so  strange,  so  unexpected, 
has  happened,  that,  simple  as  it  is,  I  scarce- 
ly know  how  to  set  it  down,  or  what  to 
augur  from  it. 

Minnie  has  gone ! 

Where  —  for  how  long  —  for  what  pur- 
pose —  I  do  not  know.  She  has  gone  from 
her  home,  from  me. 

Early  this  morning,  while  I  was  waiting 
to  see  her  dear  face,  I  was  thinking  of 
something  strange  that  occurred  in  the 
night,  wondering  whether  it  formed  part 
of  my  dreaming  fancies  or  had  actually  oc- 
curred.    It  was  this  :  — 

The  house  was  very  quiet.  It  was  the 
most  solemn  part  of  the  night,  whea 
troubled  life  is  most  like  peaceful  death. 
The  healthfulness  of  dreamless  sleep  is 
denied  me,  as  it  is  denied  to  all  men 
whose  minds  are  harassed.  For  many 
weeks  I  have  not  enjoyed  an  hour's 
repose,  and  so  confused  are  the  images 
that  pass  through  my  mind  when  I  am 
alone,  that  I  am  often  in  doubt  whether 
the  scenes  in  which  I  am  taking  part  are 
real  or  fanciful.  I  was  in  this  condition 
last  night  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writ- 
ing. While  I  was  thinking  or  dreaming 
of  Minnie  and  her  mother,  I  heard  a  soft 
footfall  in  the  room.  The  impression  that 
some  one  was  in  the  room  was  strong  upon 
me,  and  when  I  felt  a  kiss  upon  my  face, 
and  my  pillow  being  smoothed  by  a  gentle 
hand,  I  was  almost  convinced  that  it  was 
Minnie.  The  presence  remained  with  me 
for  1  know  not  what  length  of  time  ;  I  do 
not  know  when  I  lost  it,  or  when  it  depart- 
ed, but  when  I  called  "Minnie  !  "  no  voice 
answered  me.  When  daylight  came,  I  de- 
termined to  ask  Minnie  if  it  was  she  who 
had  entered  my  room  in  the  night.  I 
waited  impatiently  for  her  appearance,  but 
she  did  not  come.  Susan  came,  and  I  asked 
her  if  Minnie  was  down  yet;  Susan  had 
not  seen  her.  I  bade  her  go  and  tell  Min- 
nie to  come  to  me ;  she  returned  and  said 
that  Minnie  was  not  in  bed,  nor  in  any  part 
of  the  house.  As  Susan  told  me  this,  she 
came  to  my  bedside,  and,  stooping,  picked 
up  a  paper  which  must  have  fallen  frora 
beneath  my  pillow.  There  was  writing  oh 
it  —  Minnie's  writing.  It  was  addressed 
to  me,  and  it  told  me  that  Minnie  had  left 
me,  not  from  any  want  of  love,  but  because 
she  was  miserable  and  unhappy.  She  said 
said  she  knew  that  she  had  been  watched ; 
that  a  feeling  she  could  not  control  had 
compelled  her  to  leave  for  a  time  ;  that  she 


136 


JOSHUA  MARVEL, 


■would  write  again  or  see  me  in  a  few  days; 
and  she  beLi;ged  me  to  believe  that  no  one 
but  herself  was  to  blame  for  what  she  had 
done.  She  asked  me,  too,  not  to  be 
anxious  as  to  how  she  would  live,  for  she 
had  provided  for  that. 

The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  desire  Susan 
to  loek  the  door,  and  on  no  aceount  to  al- 
low a  person  to  enter  the  room.  For  the 
thought  Hashed  upon  me,  that  if  it  were 
known  that  Minnie  had  lel't  her  home 
clandestinely,  her  good  name  would  suffer. 
She  had  done  a  foolish  thing, —  ay,  it  was 
a  cruel  thing  to  leave  me  thus ;  but  it  was 
done  in  all  innocence,  I  am  sure,  and  in 
ignorance  of  the  world's  judgment  upon 
such  an  act.  I,  her  father,  must  protect 
her  good  name  ;  no  breath  of  slander  must 
be  allowed  to  touch  her.  Therefore  I 
judged  it  imperative  that  the  secret  of  her 
departure  should  be  known  only  to  Susan 
and  me.  I  gave  Susan  the  letter  to  read, 
and  when  her  tears  were  dried,  my  plan 
■was  formed.  It  is  well  tor  me  that  J  have 
such  an  attached  and  faithful  friend  as 
Susan.  Without  her,  I  should  be  lieli)less 
indeed.  I  explained  my  wishes  to  her,  and 
she  promised  to  obey  thein  im]:)licitly  —  ami 
she  will.  The  Marvels  and  Dan  and  Ellen 
are  to  be  told  that  Minnie  cannot  leave 
me;  that  my  illness  has  increased,  and  I 
require  her  constant  attendance.  And  on  no 
pretence  whatever  is  any  one  of  them  to 
be  allowed  to  come  into  the  room.  The 
door  is  to  be  always  locked,  and  when  Su- 
san goes  out  of  the  room,  she  is  to  lock  the 
door  and  take  the  key  with  her.  I  am 
afraid  that  Susan  judges  Joshua  even  more 
harshly  than  I  do ;  for  she  suggested  that 
she  should  watch  his  movements,  in  the 
expectation  that  some  clew  might  be  gain- 
ed. Her  evidence  of  to-day  is  all  in  his 
favor.  She  ascertained  that  he  went  this 
morning  direct  fi-om  home  to  liis  ship ; 
that  he  worked  there  tor  six  hours,  and 
that  he  came  home  direct  to  Ellen.  No,  I 
cannot  associate  him  wiih  Minnie's  disap- 
pearance. I  have  been  thinking  as  cohe- 
rently as  I  could  as  to  what  is  most  likely 
the  cause  of  her  leaving  home,  and  the 
most  hopeful  conclusion  I  can  arrive  at  is 
this  :  That  Minnie  has  an  attachment  for 
Joshua,  which,  in  the  face  of  his  engage- 
ment with  Ellen,  she  feels  it  is  her  duty  to 
subdue ;  that  it  is  painiiil  to  her  to  be  a 
witness  of  Ellen's  ha[)piness ;  and  that, 
fearful  lest  she  should  betray  her  attach- 
ment, she  has  left  the  neighborhood  until 
Joshua  has  gone  upon  his  voyage. 

I  am  re-assured.  This  conclusion  is 
reasonable  as  well  as  hopetul.  1  must  bear 
■with  the  misery  of  her  absence  —  ah,  how 
I  miss  her  beloved  face  !  —  in  the  hope 
that  my  darling  will  return  to  me  when  he 


is  gone,  and  that  she  will  regain  her  peace 
of  mind,  and  be  to  me  as  she  has  hitherto 
been  ;  chastened  perhaps,  but  not  entirely 
unhappy. 

Are  you  thinking  of  me,  IMinnie  ?  Can 
you  realize  the  depth  of  my  love  for  you, 
my  dearest  ?  If  such  a  thing  exists  in  the 
flesh  as  spiritual  comumnion  with  those  we 
love,  you  will  know,  darling  treasure  of  my 
heart !  that  my  thoughts,  my  blessings,  my 
prayers  are  with  you  now. 

In  two  days  Joshua's  ship  will  sail,  and 
then  my  darling  will  come  home.  The 
secret  of  her  departure  has  been  well  kept. 
No  one  knows  or  suspects.  There  is  a 
rare  faithfulness  in  Susan's  nature.  If  she 
possessed  all  the  graces  of  womanhood,  she 
could  not  be  nobler  than  she  is. 

I  need  all  my  strength  to  enable  me  to 
bear  with  jMiimie's  absence  ;  so  constantly 
do  my  tliouglits  dwell  upon  lier,  that  at 
certain  times  I  lose  consciousness  of  what 
has  taken  place,  and  detect  myself  listen- 
ing for  her  footstep.  At  other  times  I  am 
engrossed  by  the  i(?ea  that  many  years 
have  passed  since  I  last  saw  Minnie.  When 
this  impression  is  upon  me,  Minnie  appears 
to  me  not  as  a  woman,  but  as  a  child. 

Joshua  Marvel  has  gone.  Thank  God  ! 
Now  I  may  expect  Minnie  to  return.  Any 
moment  uuxy  bring  her  to  my  loving  arms 
again.  I  am  haunted  by  the  ghosts  of 
footsteps  on  the  stairs.  I  know  afterwards 
that  my  fancy  has  conjured  them  up;  but 
if  they  were  re  d,  I  could  not  hear  them 
more  plainly.  They  are  Minnie's  footsteps 
always.  I  hear  them  first  in  the  passage 
leading  from  the  street  —  I  stop  and  listen. 
Softly  yet  swiftly  they  come  nearer  and 
nearer  to  me,  till  they  are  outside  my  door. 
Then  I  say  to  myself,  "  She  is  lingering 
for  a  while,  thinking  of  the  hai)piness  I 
shall  feel  when  she  opens  the  door  and 
runs  to  my  side."  But  the  long  silence 
that  follows  tells  me  that  the  steps  I  heard 
were  created  by  my  fancy,  and  that  I  have 
still  to  wait  for  the  accomplishment  of  my 
dearest  hope. 

Before  Joshua  left,  he  came  to  the  door, 
and  asked  to  see  me  and  IMiunie  to  bid  us 
good-by.  His  desire  to  see  Minnie  was 
assuring,  for  it  convinced  me  that  the  rea- 
sons I  assigned  for  her  leaving  are  correct. 
But  I  would  not  see  him  —  I  could  not; 
for  if  he  came  into  the  room,  he  would 
discover  Minnie's  absence. 

I  am  thankful  to  think  that  my  forced  se- 
clusion will  soon  be  at  an  end.  How  the 
minutes  lag!  Come,  Minnie!  Come,  mj 
darling  child  ! 

How  shall  I  be  able  to  endure  this  ag- 


BASIL   KINDRED'S   DIARY. 


137 


ony?  It  is  night;  yesterday  moniing 
Jushua  Marvel  left  to  <io  on  his  vo}a;i;e, 
and  there  is  no  siij;!!  of  Minnie.  What  can 
I  think  V  II  IS  any  calamity  befallen  her  V 
Is  she  lyinir  sick,  helpless  anywhere,  and 
must  I  remain  here,  gnawhi;j;  my  heart 
away-  with  the  knowledge  that  I  am  power- 
less to  help  her  ?  O  God,  who  only  wit- 
nesselh  my  sutlerings,  send  my  darling 
home  to  me  to-niglit  1  If  in  my  life  I  have 
erred,  and  deserve  jjunishment  —  if  the  in- 
junction I  laid  upon  the  woman  who  loved 
me,  and  wliom  I  loved  with  all  my  strength, 
was  a  crime,  and  if  I  am  to  sutler  for  the 
misery  of  her  wedded  lite,  being  the  cau,-e 
of  it  —  deal  with  me  as  thou  wilt ;  but  let  me 
look  once  fliore  u])on  the  face  of  my  darling  ! 

The  third  day.  My  life  is  being  tortured 
away.  I  believe  that  I  shall  die  before  see- 
ing Minnie.  The  prescience  of  death  is 
upon  me.  Every  few  minutes  Susan  runs 
into  the  street  to  see  if  Minnie  is  coming ; 
but  there  is  no  sign  of  her.  The  slightest 
sound  in  the  house  causes  my  heart  to  beat 
so  violently  that  I  am  afraid.  I  try  to 
think,  but  I  cannot ;  I  can  only  fear.  These 
few  words  have  taken  me  long  to  write.  I 
cannot  read  what  I  have  previously  writ- 
ten. I  have  tried  to  do  so,  but  the  words 
swim  before  my  eyes.  I  can  write  no  more 
to-day. 

With  a  despairing  mind  I  trace  these 
words  slowly  and  painfully.  They  are 
powerless  to  express  my  feelings. 

Death  is  near.  I  know  it.  Not  by  phy- 
sical pain  am  I  warned,  but  I  know  it.  I 
saw  my  wile  last  night.  She  stood  by  my 
side  for  full  an  hour.  It  is  a  sign  that  my 
hour  is  come. 

Susan  is  below,  looking  for  Minnie,  per- 
haps —  looking  fijr  Minnie,  who  will  never, 
never  come.  .  .  . 

I  take  up  my  pen  again.  What  lies  be- 
fore me  ?  A  letter.  Susan  brought  it  up 
a  while  ago,  and  gave  it  to  me.  But  when 
I  saw  the  writing  on  the  cover,  I  had  not 
courage  to  open  it,  so  I  placed  it  in  the 
desk.  It  is  addressed  to  me  in  Minnie's 
writing.  And  on  the  cover  are  these  words  : 
"  The '  Merry  Andrew ; '  John  Steele,  pilot." 
The  letter,  then,  comes  from  the  "  Merry 
Andrew,"  and  is  in  Minnie's  writing.  What 
follows  ?  That  Minnie  is  on  board  the 
"  Merry  Andrew  "  with  Joshua  Marvel  I  I 
must  read  it  —  I  must,  if  it  strike  me  dead  ! 

That  was  all  that  was  written.  Dan 
read  every  word  of  the  manuscript  aloud, 
but  was  compelled  by  emotion  to  pause 
many  times.  During  the  silence  that  fol- 
lowed, one  thought  rose  uppermost  in  their 
minds.     Ellen   thought,    '*  How   will    Dan 


bear  this  ? "  And  Dan  had  the  same 
thought  with  respect  to  Ellen.  Is  such  no- 
ble unsellishiiess  rare?  Let  us  hope  not. 
For  the  first  and  only  time  in  the;  course  of 
this  narrative,  the  writer  pauses  to  speak 
of  a  jiersonal  experience  of  devotion  and 
unselfishness.  It  was  before  him  during 
his  boyhood  in  the  person  oi'  his  mother; 
and  it  is  to  her,  and  to  the  patient,  unmur- 
muring gentleness  with  which  she  bore  the 
trials  of  her  life,  that  her  children  owe 
whatever  little  of  good  there  may  be  in 
their  nature.  It  is  from  his  experience  of 
his  mother's  life  of  goodness  and  self-sacri- 
fice that  he  knows  that  the  noble  unselfish- 
ness of  Dan  and  Ellen  is  not,  thank  God,  a 
creation  of  his  fancy.  And  as  he  writes 
these  words  in  the  nudst  of  a  great  city, 
with  all  the  whu-1  of  its  busy  life  around 
him,  he  is  glad  to  think  that  in  it  —  in  gi-eat 
mansions  and  mean  houses,  in  sight  of  gar- 
dens where  Nature  makes  holiday,  and  of 
dirty  streets  and  courts  where  bright  leaf 
never  gi-ows  —  flowers  of  human  life  which 
the  world  shall  never  see  are  blossoming 
tenderly  and  holily,  and  living  gentle  hves 
for  others'  good. 

For  a  long  time  no  word  was  spoken  by 
Ellen  and  Dan.  Then  Dan  turned  and 
looked  in  Ellen's  face.  She  met  his  gaze 
pityingly,  almost  appealingly.  He  an- 
swered her  with  a  sad  smile,  in  which 
there  was  much  sweetness. 

"  You  were  the  first  to  guess  my  love  for 
Minnie,"  he  said ;  ''  and  only  to  Jo  did  I 
ever  confess  it.  But  do  not  fret  for  me, 
my  dear ;  she  can  never  be  to  me  what  I 
was  daring  enough  to  hope  she  would  be 
one  day.  My  love  for  her  is  not  less  strong, 
but  my  hope  is  buried  now." 

She  could  say  nothing  but  "  Oh,  my  poor 
Dan  !     Oh,  my  poor  Dan  1  " 

"  Nay,  why  ?  "  he  answered  in  his  gentle 
voice ;  "  what  could  I  have  offered  her  ? 
What  right  had  I,  a  cripple,  to  entertain 
the  hope  V  I  dared  to  hope  that  she, 
bright,  strong,  and  full  of  healthful  life, 
would  tie  herself  to  a  weak,  sickly  thing 
like  me.  I  dared  to  hope  that  she  would 
love  me.  I  fed  my  heart  upon  delusions  ; 
I  can  see  it  now.  But  I  can  love  her  still 
—  can  believe  in  her  still  —  shall  have 
faith  in  her  purity  as  long  as  my  heart 
shall  beat,  and  after  that  —  ay,  who 
knows?"  He  paused  for  a  little  while 
before  he  resumed :  "  What  you  and  I 
have  in  our  thoughts,  my  dear,  we  must 
speak  of;  in  that  lies  our  only  consolation. 
And  we  must  not  shrink  from  it ;  for  our 
duty,  no  less  than  our  love,  demands  it." 

And  yet  she  did  shrink,  fearing  what 
was  coming. 

"  What  wonder  that  she  should  love 
Joshua?"    continued    Dan,    unflinchingly 


138 


JOSHUA  MAKVEL. 


determined  to  look  the  truth  in  the  face, 
and  not  to  spare  himself,  althouL^h  as  he 
spoke  his  quivering  lips  and  tremulous 
voice  betrayed  his  agitation.  "  We  who 
know  how  good  and  brave  he  is  are  able  to 
understand  that  she  could  not  help  loving 
him.  But  he  —  no,  he  played  no  false 
part  by  her."  He  placed  his  hand  upon 
the  Bible,  and  the  action  gave  a  deeper 
solemnity  to  the  declaration.  "  Some  sus- 
picion he  may  have  entertained  that  her 
feelings  towards  him  were  warmer  than 
they  ought  to  have  been ;  and  I  well  know 
the  grief  such  suspicion  brought  to  him. 
But  he  could  not  mention  it  —  he  dared 
not  speak  of  it  for  iNIiunie's  sake  —  fur 
mine.  I  can  trace  a  meaning  now  in  the 
last  words  he  said  to  me.  '  You  do  not 
doubt  me,  Dan  ?  '  he  asked.  I  answered, 
'  No,  nor  never  could.'  And  then  he  said 
he  should  not  have  asked,  but  that  certain 
things  had  distressed  him  lately.  Poor 
Jo !  Yes,  he  must  have  guessed  Minnie's 
secret,  and,  knowing  my  love  for  her, 
trembled  lest  I  should  turn  against  him. 
Turn  against  him !  my  best,  my  dearest 
friend  !  When  I  do,  it  will  be  time  for  me 
to  die.  Believe  that  I  never  wavered  in 
my  love  or  my  truth,  and  that  to  the 
last  I  held  you  in  my  heart  as  I  hold  you 
now,  gentlest,  dearest,  best  of  friends  !  " 

Unconsciously  he  had  uttered  the  very 
words  which  Joshua  addressed  to  him, 
and  he  spoke  them  as  if  Joshua  were 
standing  before  him. 

"  As  for  what  we  have  read  to-night,  we, 
and  we  alone,  can  rightly  understand  it. 
He  who  wrote  it  in  his  agony  knows  now 
that  Joshua's  heart  is  as  pure  as  Minnie's 
honor." 

"  Those  strange  letters  poor  Minnie's  fa- 
ther received,""  whispered  Ellen  ;  "  who 
wrote  them  ?  " 

"  Who  stabbed  Jo  when  he  came  home  ?  " 
asked  Dan  in  reply.  '•  Whoever  did  that 
wrote  tlie  letters.  Jo  has  an  enemy." 
Then,  with  a  sudden  remembrance  of 
Joshua's  warning  against  Solomon  Fewster, 
he  cried  in  a  louder  tone  than  he  had 
hitherto  used,  "Mr.  Fewster!"  With 
eager  impatience  he  turned  over  the  pages 
of  Basil  Kindred's  diary,  and  lighted  upon 
the  original  letters.  They  were  pinned 
on  blank  pages  at  the  end  of  the  diary,  and 
were  written  on  soiled  sheets  of  blue  let- 
ter-paper. "No,"  said  Dan,  examining 
them  ;  "  the  writing  is  strange  to  me.  We 
must  wait  until  Jo  comes  back ;  all  will  be 
explained  then." 

The  candle  had  burnt  low  in  the  socket 
by  this  time,  and  Dan  had  just  said,  "  I 
think  we  had  better  try  to  sleep  for  a  little 
while,  Ellen,"  when  they  heard  sounds  of 
some  one  walking  softly  about  the  house. 


"  There  is  no  one  here  but  Susan,"  said 
Ellen,  in  a  tone  of  quiet  surprise. 

"  No  one  but  "  —  said  Dan,  and  then 
paused,  awestruck  by  the  thought  of  that 
only  other  one  in  the  house,  who  lay 
stark  and  dead  in  the  room  above. 

They  listened  to  Susan's  Ibotsteps,  and  a 
new  fear  entered  their  hearts.  There  was 
a  soft  stealthiness  in  the  footfall,  as  if  Susan 
were  hunting  for  some  one  who  was  hiding 
from  her. 

"  Shall  I  go  and  see  ?  "  asked  Ellen. 

"  Hush  !  "  whispered  Dan. 

Susan's  footsteps,  soft  and  stealthy  as 
those  of  a  cat,  were  in  the  passage.  Pres- 
ently the  door  was  opened  cautiously,  and 
Susan  entered,  and  suttly  closed  the  door 
behind  her.  She  did  not  notice  either 
Dan  or  Ellen,  but  looked  about  the  room 
inquiringly,  then  went  to  the  window  and 
])ulled  up  the  blind.  The  moon  was  high 
in  the  heavens,  and  the  light  streamed 
down  upon  her  face,  making  it  ghastly. 

"  Susan  !  "  cried  Dan. 

But  she  did  not  heed  him  ;  she  peered 
anxiously  through  the  window  into  the 
street,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"  Is  she  asleep  ?  "  Avhispered  Ellen. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dan  in  a  troubled 
voice ;  "  it  is  dreadful  to  see  her  with  that 
expression  on  her  face." 

It  was  an  expression  of  suppressed 
watchfulness ;  that  her  firmly-compressed 
lips  and  wandering  eyes  were  at  variance 
might  have  been  due  to  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances of  her  life ;  but  in  the  cunning 
and  revengeful  determination  in  her  face 
there  was  no  sign  of  indecision.  It  was  as 
though  she  had  staked  her  life  on  the  ac- 
complishment of  a  task. 

As  she  turned  from  the  window  and 
approached  Dan,  he  seized  her  hand. 

"  Susan,"  he  said,  gently,  "  speak  to  me, 
my  dear.     What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  head,  and  said, 

"  Poor  Dan  1  And  you  loved  her,  and 
she  is  lost  to  you." 

"  Not  lost,  Susey,"  he  said,  detaining  her 
hand  and  humoring  her,  for  he  was  afraid 
that  her  reason  was  gone  ;  "  not  lost.  She 
will  come  back." 

"She  will  never  come  back  —  never, 
never !  When  she  hears  that  he  is  dead 
—  he  is  lying  dead  up  stairs,  Dan  —  she 
will  never  come  back  ;  she  will  drown  her- 
self first ;  for  she  loved  him,  and  me  too  ; 
and  would  have  loved  you,  Dan,  but  for 
that  false-hearted  friend." 

"  You  must  not  say  that,  Susey,"  said 
Dan,  pointing  to  Ellen,  who  had  turned 
aside  weeping.  "  Look  at  Ellen.  He  is 
her  husband,  and  he  is  not  false-hearted. 
For  her  sake  you  must  have  kinder,  juster 
thouixhts  towards  Jo." 


WHAT  THE   NEIGHBORS  THINK   OF  IT. 


139 


But  Susan  ilid  not  catch  the  sense  of  his 
"words.  Ail  that  she  understood  was,  that 
he  was  speaking  in  defence  of  Joshua. 

"All  in  his  favor,"  she  muttered.  "If 
any  one  is  to  blame,  it  is  Minnie  —  that's 
what  all  of  you  will  say.  But  I  know  bet- 
ter;  I  know  better.  Didn't  I  watch  theui  ? 
Didn't  I  see  him  making  love  to  her  on  tiie 
ship  V  Didn't  I  see  the  poor  dear  that's 
lying  dead  up  stairs  tortured  slowly  to 
death?  And  don't  I  know  who  killed 
him  ?  " 

"  Who,  Susan,  who  ?  "  asked  Dan,  hold- 
ing his  breath, 

"  Joshua  Marvel,"  said  Susan,  between 
her  set  teeth,  with  no  change  upon  her 
face.  "  And  as  God's  my  judge,  I  will 
bring  him  to  justice  !  You  are  his  friends 
—  I  know  that  :  you'll  try  to  hide  him 
from  me ;  but  I'll  do  what  I've  made  up 
my  mind  to,  if  I  drop  down  dead  the  min- 
ute after." 

She  twisted  her  hand  from  Dan's  grasp, 
and  crept  slowly  into  the  passage,  and 
thence  into  the  street.  And  there  she 
stood  for  many  minutes,  with  the  same  ex- 
pression of  implacable  animosity  on  her 
face,  waiting  for  the  return  of  Basil  Kin- 
di'ed's  murderer. 


CHAPTER    XXVn. 

WHAT    THE   NEIGHBORS    THINK   OF    IT. 

The  events  that  have  been  described, 
proved  to  be  something  more  than  a  nine- 
days'  wonder.  The  neighborhood  was  re- 
markably bare  of  exciting  incidents,  and 
nothing  so  stirring  as  the  sudden  death  of 
Basil  Kindred  and  the  flight  of  Minnie 
had  happened  within  the  memory  of  the 
oldest  inhabitant.  Besides  that,  there  was 
one  element  in  the  occurrences  which, 
above  all  others,  added  zest  and  flavor  to 
them  —  this  was  the  element  of  mystery. 
Here  was  a  family,  which  might  be  looked 
upon  as  the  most  respected  family  in  the 
neighborhood ;  for  there  was  no  question 
about  the  position  held  by  the  Marvels. 
Every  one  of  the  neighbors  liked  them,  and 
every  one  of  the  neighbors  had  a  good 
word  for  them.  They  had  lived  in  the 
neighborhood  —  they  and  their  fathers 
and  grandfathers  before  them  —  for  many 
scores  of  years,  and  no  shadow  of  re- 
proach had  ever  rested  upon  a  single 
member  of  the  family.  They  had  always 
been  steady,  industrious,  and  sober,  and 
had  been  held  up  as  examples,  time  out  of 
mind,  by  wives  to  their  husbands,  and  par- 


ents to  their  children.  They  were  homely, 
hospitable,  and  sociable,  and,  although  they 
might  very  well  have  done  it,  had  never 
held  their  heads  al)ove  their  fellows.  If 
any  nuile  accjuaintance  wanted  a  word  of 
advice,  he  went  to  Mr.  Marvel  for  it ;  and 
the  advice  received  was  generally  found  to 
be  sound,  and  was  always  admitted  to  be 
good.  If  any  one  was  sick,  Mrs.  Marvel 
always  came  forward  to  help  and  assist,  in 
her  small  way,  and  was  always  ready  to 
sit  up  of  a  night  if  it  were  net-essary,  and 
to  do  some  portion  of  the  househokl  work 
if  it  were  needed.  And  what  she  did  was 
done  so  unostentatiously  and  (juietly  that 
it  never  left  a  sting  behind  it,  and  never  — 
strange  as  it  may  sound  —  elicited  any  thing 
but  gratitude.  Joshua  was  a  model  of  a 
son,  and  the  neighbors  had  been  proud  of 
him.  Take  them  for  all  in  all,  the  Marvels 
were  a  credit  to  the  locality.  And  yet,  as 
you  shall  presently  see,  notwithstanding 
their  irreproachable  character,  notwith- 
standing the  credit  in  which  they  were 
held,  notwithstanding  that  they  were  fa- 
mous for  all  the  virtues  under  the  sun,  a 
very  remarkable  change  was  to  take  place 
in  the  estimation  in  which  they  were 
held. 

Then  as  to  the  Taylors.  There  had 
been  many  transitions  of  feeling  regarding 
them  when  the  parents  were  alive.  They 
had  not  been  a  credit  to  the  neighborhood. 
The  meek  uncomplaining  life  which  Mrs. 
Taylor  had  led  had  been  entirely  lost  sight 
of  in  the  drunken  dissolute  habits  of  the 
head  of  the  family.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
of  this  bad  conduct  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Taylor  that  the  virtues  of  the  good  wife 
had  not  been  taken  into  account ;  and  the 
fact  remained,  that  it  was  not  until  after 
Mr.  Taylor's  death  —  the  manner  of  which 
was  disgraceful,  and  left  a  blot  upon  the 
family  name  —  that  any  strong  affection 
was  mingled  with  the  pity  Avith  which  Dan 
and  Ellen  were  regarded.  There  were  so 
many  singular  circumstances  connected 
with  the  family  history.  First,  there  was 
Susan  letting  Dan  fall  out  of  the  window 
when  he  was  a  baby  and  breaking  his  legs. 
Many  of  the  neighbors,  with  young  families 
of  their  own,  remembered  the  time  when 
they  were  boys  and  girls,  and  when  Susan 
was  twitted  and  jeered  at  for  being  Dan's 
murderer.  Then  Susan's  strange  manner 
and  slovenly  dress  —  not  it  must  be  admit- 
ted, that  her  slovenliness  had  very  much  to 
do  with  the  feeling  —  had  not  rendered  her 
a  favorite ;  and  she  was  often  spoken  of 
as  being  soft  and  not  quite  right  in  her 
mind. 

Then  came  that  part  of  Mr.  Taylor's 
career  when  (it  having  been  wliispered 
about  that  he  had  been  the  death  of  hia 


140 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


■wife  he  fell  into  deeper  and  deeper  dis- 
sipation, and  when  he  was  to  be  seem  regu- 
larly eveiy  night  tumbling  out  of  the  pub- 
lic-house, and  reeling  home  in  a  state  of  in- 
toxication. It  is  surprising  how  hard  many 
wives,  whose  husbands  were  not  quite  free 
from  the  reproach  of  over-indulgence,  were 
upon  the  failings  of  Mr.  Taylor.  He  was 
a  "  drunken  beast,"  a  "  disgrace  to  the 
street,"  and  so  forth.  And  yet,  as  you  have 
seen,  they  were  proud  of  the  beautiful 
friendship  that  existed  between  Dan  and 
Joshua,  and  apprecia*^ed  the  good  conduct  of 
Ellen  from  the  time  that  she  was  big  enough 
—  she  was  }oung  enough,  Heaven  knows, 
when  her  duties  commenced  —  to  assist  in 
the  cleaning  and  washing.  But  the  fa- 
tlier's  drunken  habits  stained  the  family  rep- 
utation, and  not  all  the  washing  and  wring- 
ing could  wash  it  clean  at  that  time.  Then 
came  the  shameful  death  of  the  drunkard. 
From  the  date  of  that  occurrence,  the  posi- 
tion of  the  family  l)egan  to  improve,  and 
the  engagement  of  Ellen  and  Joshua  lifted 
them  up  still  further  in  the  estimation  of 
their  neighbors. 

Lastly,  there  were  Basil  Kindred  and 
Minnie.  Neither  of  them  had  ever  been 
favorites  out  of  their  own  small  circle.  Basil 
Kindred  had  held  his  head  above  them, 
and  Minnie  was  too  much  of  a  lady  for 
"  such  poor  folks  as  us."  All  the  grown-up 
girls  disliked  her  because  she  was  superior 
to  them,  and  because  she  did  not  associate 
with  them.  Therefore  neither  father  nor 
daughter  obtained  sympathy,  and  there 
was  very  little  pity  expressed  for  Basil's 
death.  As  for  Minnie,  she  was  generally 
condemned.  The  neighbors  in  speaking 
of  her  and  her  flight  said,  "  she  was  always 
a  forward  thing  ;  "  and  some  even  went  so 
far  as  to  call  her  a  "  stuck-up  slut."  They 
never  expected  any  thing  better  of  her,  not 
they. 

The  mystery  was,  how  it  all  became 
known ;  for  it  was  known,  every  detail  of 
it,  the  day  following  that  on  which  Basil 
Kindred  had  died.  Every  person,  for 
about  a  dozen  streets  round  about,  knew 
all  the  particulars  almost  as  soon  as  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marvel  were  made  acquainted 
with  them  —  knew  that  Minnie  had  run 
away,  knew  that  she  was  in  Joshua  Mar- 
vel's ship,  knew  that  the  intelligence  of  the 
flight  had  caused  her  father's  death.  Then 
they  began  to  be  wise  in  their  generation, 
after  the  usual  manner  of  human  herds, 
and  before  nightfall  of  the  second  day  it 
was  recognized  as  an  established  fact,  that 
it  had  been  a  cunningly-planned  plot  from 
first  to  last,  and  that  Joshua  and  Minnie 
had  run  away  together. 

There  is  no  accounting  for  these  revul- 
sions of  feeling,  and  it  is  perhaps  best  not 


to  attempt  to  analyze  them.  So  much 
small  malice  and  miserable  uncharitable- 
ness  would  be  brought  to  light,  that  we 
should  be  ashamed  of  the  exposure  —  be- 
ing liable  to  such  influences  ourselves.  Jo- 
shua's character  had  hitherto  been  irre- 
proachable ;  he  had  been  almost  loved  by 
many,  and  liked  and  admired  by  all.  Sud- 
denly he  is  tainted  by  suspicion,  and  by 
suspicion  only.  There  is  not  a  tittle  of  di- 
rect evidence  against  him.  But  the  suspi- 
cion is  enough ;  directly  it  is  whispered,  it 
swells  and  grows,  like  the  cloud  which  is 
at  first  "  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,"  and 
Joshua's  good  name  is  wrecked  i  n  the  storm 
that  follows. 

The  additional  grief  that  this  general 
verdict  inflicted  upon  Joshua's  parents  may 
easily  be  imagined.  They  had  to  learn 
that  "  slander's  edge  is  sharper  than  the 
SAvord,"  and  that  thou'^h  their  dear  son 
were  "  chaste  as  ice  and  pure  as  snow,  he 
should  not  escape  calumny."  But  they  did 
not  receive  these  lessons  meekly.  They 
fought  and  protested  against  them  with  all 
the  strength  of  their  loving  souls.  They 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  stop  a  fierce 
wind  with  the  palms  of  their  hands. 

One  of  their  bitterest  experiences  was 
the  knowledge  that  there  was  a  difference 
of  sentiment  between  them.  They  did  not 
all  believe  alike.  All  of  them,  except  Su- 
san, believed  alike  in  the  innocence  and 
purity  of  Joshua ;  but  not  so  with  respect 
to  Minnie.  The  mercy  that  Dan  and  Ellen 
accorded  to  her  was  denied  to  her  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marvel.  Neither  of  them  thought 
well  of  her ;  and  although  Mrs.  Marvel's 
verdict  was  less  harsh  than  that  of  her  hus- 
band, she  too,  gentle  and  forgiving  as  was 
her  nature,  could  not  forgive  and  hold  dear 
the  unhappy  girl  who  had  brought  this 
great  misery  npon  them.  What  Minnie 
had  done  was  nothing  less  than  a  crime  in 
the  eyes  of  the  good  mother  and  good 
woman. 

But  Minnie  had  one  champion  —  Susan. 
It  was  generally  reported,  a  few  days  after 
the  tragic  occurrence,  that  Susan  had  gone 
mad  because  of  Basil  Kindred's  death  ;  and 
a  whisper  went  about,  that,  mad  as  she  was, 
she  was  fixed  to  the  one  idea  of  bringing 
Joshua  to  justice.  Susan's  madness,  if  mad- 
ness it  was,  took  a  very  mild  form.  She 
did  not  speak  upon  the  subject,  but  she  be- 
lieved thoroughly  in  Minnie's  innocence 
and  Joshua's  guilt ;  and  she  was  ever  on  the 
watch  to  bring  that  false  friend  to  justice. 
She  was  always  peering  about  her  and 
hunting  for  Joshua.  She  contracted  a 
strange  habit  of  suspecting  that  he  was 
hiding  in  the  place  she  last  left,  and  when 
she  went  out  of  the  house,  returned,  after 
going  a  few  paces,  to  see  if  the  man  she 


WHAT  THE  NEIGHBORS  THINK   OF   IT. 


141 


was  waitino;  for  was  in  the  passage.  If  she 
opened  a  gate  and  shut  it  behind  her,  she 
walked  back  to  it  and  looked  about  her, 
expectant.  Never  a  night  ])assed  but  she 
rose  from  her  bed  and  went  into  the  street, 
waiting  fi)r  Joshua ;  in  tlie  dead  of  night, 
when  all  others  were  asleep,  she  would  sit 
at  her  window  and  look  into  the  street, 
waitinu^  paiiently.  "NVlieu  they  discovered 
this  habit  at  home,  they  tried  to  break  her 
of  it;  but  their  efforts  were  unavailing. 
By  and  by,  this  proceeding  began  to  be  ex- 
ceedingly popular  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
popular  opinion  veered  round  to  Susan's 
view ;  INIinnie  was  not  so  thoroughly  con- 
demned, and  the  blame  was  entirely  laid  on 
Joshua's  shoulders.  And  when  the  neigh- 
bors openly  expressed  their  sympathy  to 
Mr.  Marvel  because  Joshua  had  "turned 
out  bad,"  he  resented  it  angrily  in  his  dog- 
matic obstinate  way,  until  he  began  to 
quarrel  with  them.  He  was  so  indignant, 
so  hurt,  so  unhappy,  that  he  refused  to 
speak  to  his  old  acquaintances,  and  grad- 
ually they  fell  off  from  him,  and  a  coldness 
sprang  up  which  made  his  life  a  misery. 
Still,  he  and  all  that  were  bound  to  him 
cherished  the  hope  that  when  Joshua  came 
home  all  would  be  cleared  up.  But  Mr. 
Marvel  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
never  forgive  his  neighbors  for  their  suspi- 
cions. Months  passed,  and  the  estrangement 
between  him  and  his  acquaintances  grew 
stronger  ;  his  home,  too,  was  not  a  happy 
one.  He  grew  morose  and  ill-tempered, 
and  would  not  speak  to  his  wife  upon  the 
subject  of  Joshua  and  Minnie;  and  when 
she  found  that  he  was  determined  upon  this 
point,  she  wisely  forbore  to  press  him,  know- 
ing his  nature. 

Before  the  advent  of  another  spring, 
Ellen  became  a  mother.  Her  situation  had 
been  concealed  from  all  but  Dan  and  Mrs. 
Marvel ;  even  Mr.  Marvel  did  not  know  it 
until  the  child  was  born.  It  was  a  girl ; 
and  when  the  news  was  buzzed  about  the 
neighborhood,  Joshua  and  Minnie  started 
again  into  a  notoriety  which  had  been  on  the 
wane.  Again  the  busybodies  were  at  work, 
and  again  the  busy  tongues  wagged  more 
volubly  than  before.  It  was  a  matter  for 
resentment  with  the  neighbors  that  they 
had  not  been  made  acquainted  with  Ellen's 
situation ;  it  was  depriving  them  of  a  legiti- 
mate privilege.  But  Ellen  and  her  two 
confidants  had  kept  the  secret  well ;  and 
now  the  young  mother  nursed  her  child  in 
privacy,  and  seemed  only  anxious  to  keep 
it  from  prying  and  unsympathizing  eyes. 
No  news  had  been  received  of  Joshua  or  of 
his  ship ;  and  although  Mr.  Marvel  went 
every  other  day  to  the  London  agents  of 
the  "Merry  Andrew,"  they  had  nothing  to 
tell  him.  Now  that  the  child  was  born,  their 


anxiety  for  news  of  Joshua  increased.  But 
still  they  received  none.  Weeks  passed, 
months  passed,  until  the  suspense  became 
almost  maddening.  Ellen  nursed  the  baby, 
and  rejoiced  that  the  pretty  little  thing  had 
Joshua's  eyes,  and  yearned  for  Joshua  to 
see  them.  Mr.  Marvel  looked  more  angrily 
upon  his  old  ac(}uaintances,  who  were  ready 
to  quarrel  with  him  afresli  for  his  sour 
looks.  Mrs.  Marvel  suffereil  in  patience, 
and  strove  by  assumed  cheerfulness  to 
lighten  the  loads  the  others  had  to  bear. 
Susan  waited  and  watched.  And  Dan 
waited  and  hoped  —  When  there  came  a 
time !  — 

Ellen  was  in  Mrs.  Marvel's  kitchen ;  her 
baby  was  in  her  iap,  and  she  was  gazing  at 
and  worshipping,  for  the  thousandth  thou- 
sandth time,  the  baby's  beautiful  eyes,  and 
beautiful  fingers  and  nails,  and  the  round 
cheeks,  and  the  pretty  raoutli  and  chin,  so 
like  Joshua's.  It  was  evening,  and  Mr. 
Marvel  was  expected  home  every  minute, 
with  news  from  the  agents  about  Joshua's 
ship.  Ellen  began  singing  this  to  baby  — 
singing  in  a  low  soft  voice  how  father  would 
soon  come  from  over  the  seas  to  see  his  own 
little  darling  —  his  dear  darling  precious  ; 
and  she  was  in  the  midst  of  this,  enriching 
the  theme  with  twenty  different  forms  of 
endearing  expression,  when  Mr.  Marvel 
staggered  into  the  kitchen.  There  was  a 
wild  look  in  his  face,  and  his  hands  were 
trembling.     He  was  drunk. 

"  O  father  !  "  cried  Ellen. 

"  Where's  mother?  "  he  asked  in  a  husky 
voice.  "  Where's  mother?  "  he  repeated  in 
a  louder  tone. 

His  wife  answered  the  question  by  com- 
ing into  the  kitchen.  She  had  seen  him 
reel  into  the  house,  and  had  followed  him 
at  once.  She  knew  he  had  been  drinking, 
but  she  did  not  reproach  him.  He  saw  in 
her  face  the  knowledge  and  the  forbearance, 
and  he  said,  — 

"Yes,  I've  been  drinking;  I  was  bound 
to.  O  mother,  mother  I  how  shall  I  tell 
you  ?  " 

Her  lips  framed  some  words,  but  she 
could  not  utter  them.  She  sank  into  a 
chair  and  gazed  at  him  with  blanched 
cheek,  with  quivering  lips,  with  blurred 
eyes. 

Hush,  baby,  hush !  you  have  never  seen 
your  father's  face,  and  you  do  not  under- 
stand now  what  one  day  will  be  told  you 
—  what  George  Marvel  has  had  to  drink 
brandy  to  give  him  courage  to  tell  his  faith- 
ful wife  — 

That  the  good  ship,  the  "  Merry  Andrew," 
has  foundered,  and  that  every  soul  on 
board,  Joshua  and  Minnie  included,  has 
gone  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Not 
one  saved  —  not  one. 


142 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


CHAPTER  XXVin. 

ON   BOARD    THE    "  MERRY   ANDREW." 

While  the  "  Merry  Andrew  "  was  lying 
at  Blackwall  takinn;   in  cargo,  Capt.  Lid- 
die,   like  the   shrewd  captain  he  was,  had 
caused  it  to  be   notified  that  he  would  be 
happy  to  take  a  certain  number  of  passen- 
gers to  the  New  World  at  fifty  pounds  per 
head.     It  happened,  as  it  usually  happens 
in   such  like  cases,  that  just  at  that  time 
the  exact  number  of  persons  that  the  ship 
could  accommodate  found  either  that  Great 
Britain  was  too  crowded  for  them  to  move 
freely  in,  or  that  at  length  the  hour  had 
arrived  for  them  to  make  a  fresh  start  in 
life.     The  captain  of  the  "  Merry  Andrew  " 
offered   them   the    necessary   opportunity. 
His  ship  would  take  them  to  a  country  where 
they  would  be  able  to  turn  without  being 
elbowed.     And  there  was  no  doubt   that 
the   start   they  contemplated   would   be  a 
fresh  one,   inasmuch  as  in  the   new  land 
their  heads  would  be  where  their  feet  were 
now,  and  night  was  day  and  day  night,  and 
cherries   grew   with   their   stones    outside, 
and  many  other   wonders   were   common- 
places   of   everyday    life.       Accordingly, 
these   enterprising   souls,    much   to    Capt. 
Liddle's  satisfaction,  paid  their  fifty  pounds 
per  head  for  four  months  of  quiet  misery  on 
the  sea.     By  that  stroke  of  business  Capt. 
Liddle  served  two  purposes.    He  put  money 
in  his  pocket  as  chief  owner  of  the  vessel, 
and  he  provided  society  for  his  wife,  who 
was   to   accompany    him   on    the    voyage. 
Mrs.    Liddle   was   a   cheerful   little   body, 
who,  although  she  was  thirty  years  of  age, 
had  as  much  sentiment  as  a  tender-hearted 
miss  of  eighteen.     Her  engagement   with 
Capt.  Liddle  had  been  a  long  one.     It  was 
now  more  than  twelve  years  since  she  first 
saw  him  and  fell  in  love  with  him,  as  he 
did   with   her;    but   she   happened   to   be 
blessed   in   a   father  who   entertained  not 
uncommon  ideas  as  to  the  value  of  money, 
and  as  to  the  difference  it  made  in  a  man, 
especially  in  a  man  who  presumed  to  fall 
in   love  with  his  daughter.     At  that  time 
Capt.   Liddle  was  only  second  mate,  and 
his  matrimonial  overtures  were  pooh-poohed 
by  Capt.   Prue,  which   was  the  name  and 
title  of  his  wife's  fiither ;  Bessie  Prue  was 
hers.     Capt.  Prue  (retired  from  the  service) 
declared  that  he  loved  sailors  and  loved  the 
sea,    and  that  nothing  would  please  him 
better   than  that  his  Bessie  should  marry 
a  sailor.      But  then,  that  sailor  must  be 
a  captain,  he  declared,   and  that  captain 
must  be  absolute  owner  of  the  ship  he  com- 
manded.    Having  passed  the  principal  part 
of  his  life  on  sea,  in  a  position  where  his 
word  was  law,  he  was,  as  most  old  sea-cap- 


tains are,  intolerant  of  opposition.  Having 
given  the  word,  he  would  not  depart  from 
it.  Consequently,  second-mate  Liddle 
found  that  all  his  arguments  and  rhapso- 
dies were  as  wind  —  a  fluid  which  is  much 
more  useful  at  sea  than  on  land,  however 
it  is  produced.  Bessie,  as  it  proved,  pos- 
sessed a  goodly  share  of  her  old  father's 
determination  of  character.  Having  fallen 
in  love  with  second-mate  Liddle,  and  hav- 
ing deteruiincd  to  marry  him  or  die  an  old 
maid,  she  informed  her  lover  that  if  he 
would  be  faithfid  to  her,  she  would  be 
faithful  to  him  —  a  form  of  declaration 
which  has  been  very  popular  from  time 
immemorial.  The  pledge  being  sealed  by 
the  infatuated  ones  in  the  usual  manner  — 
that  is,  with  much  protestation,  with  much 
unnecessary  solemnity,  (as  if  they  were 
doomed  to  execution,  and  were  to  be  be- 
headed within  a  few  hours),  with  many 
kisses  and  tender  embracings  —  Bessie 
went  to  her  father  and  apprised  him,  melo- 
dramatically, of  her  determination. 

"  You  wouldn't  marry  without  my  con- 
sent?" was  the  obstinate  old  captain's 
question,  after  a  little  consideration.  They 
were  absurdly  happy,  these  two  determined 
persons.  Bessie  was  the  apple  of  his  eye, 
the  pride  of  his  heart ;  she  had  not  a  wish, 
except  the  wish  matrimonial,  that  he  would 
not  have  made  any  sacrifice  to  satisfy. 
"  You  wouldn't  marry  without  my  consent, 
my  pretty  ?  "  he  repeated  anxiously,  for 
she  did  not  answer  his  question  immedi- 
ately. 

"  I  won't,  on  one  condition,"  replied 
Bessie  categorically ;  "  and  that  is,  that 
you  won't  ask  me  or  wish  me,  or  try  to 
persuade  me  to  marry  anybody  but  John 
Liddle ;  for  I  love  him  with  all  my  heart, 
and  I  wouldn't  give  him  up  —  no,  not 
to  be  made  Lord  High  Admiral." 

"  I  give  you  my  promise,  my  pretty," 
said  (iapt.  Prue,  secretly  admiring  his 
daughter's  determination,  and  loving  her 
the  "more  for  it;  "I'll  never  ask  you,  nor 
wish  you,  nor  try  to  persuade  you  to  marry 
anybody  but  John  Liddle." 

It  may  be  guessed  how  wiUingly  the  old 
sea-captain  gave  the  pledge,  when  it  is 
known  that  he  looked  forward  with  abso- 
lute dread  to  the  time  when  Bessie  might 
be  taken  fi-om  him  to  another  home.  He 
would  give  her  any  thing,  help  her  to  any- 
thing but  a  husband.  What  right  had  any 
body  else  to  her?  Why,  the  ship  would 
go  on  the  rocks  without  her  !  "  And  when 
John  Liddle  is  skipper  and  owns  a  ship," 
he  added,  "  I'll  give  my  consent  free  and 
willing."  In  which  last  words  Capt.  Prue 
was  not  quite  ingenuous.  But  the  compact 
was  made  and  adhered  to.  Second-mate 
Liddle  was  informed  of  it,  and  was  com- 


ON  BOARD  THE   "MERRY  ANDREW." 


143 


pclled  to  abide  by  it.  He  trusted  to 
chance,  as  many  other  men,  not  lovei-s,  have 
done  before  him;  and  he  derived  coiisohi- 
tion  from  the  thought,  that  when  Capt. 
Prue  and  Bessie  pled;^ed  their  word,  it 
would  need  something  very  extraordinary 
and  unlooked-tbr  to  induce  them  to  break 
it.  He  rose  from  second  mate  to  first 
mate,  from  first  mate  to  skipper  ;  and  when 
he  returned  from  his  voyages,  he  found 
Bessie  faitlii'ul  and  true,  and  received  a 
hearty  welcome  from  her  father.  And 
during  these  long  and  many  years  of  pro- 
bation, he  learned  to  love  his  true-hearted 
little  woman  more  deeply  than  he  had  done 
at  first ;  she  taught  him  to  understand  what 
love  really  was ;  she  taught  him  the  true 
beauty  of  it,  the  holiness  of  it  —  that  it  was 
something  more  than  a  sentiment,  some- 
thing higher  than  a  passion ;  she  taught 
him  to  understand  that  it  was  a  sacrament. 

It  seems  fated  for  this  story,  that  its  nar- 
ration should  necessitate,  for  the  most  part, 
the  depicting  of  the  higher  virtues,  and 
what  is  most  noble  and  self-sacrificing  in 
our  natures.  But  it  should  be  none  the 
less  acceptable  because  of  that. 

A  short  time  after  Bessie's  lover  became 
skipper,  a  relative  of  his  died,  and  left  him 
some  money.  Directly  he  came  into  pos- 
session of  it,  he  bought  a  share  in  the 
"  Merry  Andrew."  Bessie  was  then  twen- 
ty-six years  of  age,  as  pretty  as  ever,  and 
as  fresh  at  heart  as  ever.  One  would  have 
thought  that  her  father  would  have  spoken 
to  her  of  his  own  accord,  there  and  then, 
and  that  he  would  have  given  her  the 
reward  of  her  faithfulness  and  devotion. 
But  the  truth  must  be  told  ;  he  was  a  selfish 
old  curmudgeon,  and  he  trembled  at  the 
thought  of  losing  her.  So  once  more  Capt. 
Liddle  sailed  away  from  his  lady-love  on 
the  voyage  in  which  our  Joshua  commenced 
his  apprenticeship  at  sea.  The  "Merry 
Andrew  "  was  away,  as  you  know,  for  more 
than  four  years ;  and  when  it  returned,  and 
Capt.  Liddle  went  to  see  his  Bessie,  he 
found  her  in  mourning.  Her  father  was 
dead.  Before  he  died  he  had  made  her 
the  only  reparation  in  his  power.  The  last 
codicil  to  his  will,  written  a  few  weeks  be- 
fore his  death,  contained  expressions  of  his 
love  for  her,  his  admiration  of  her  lover, 
his  consent  to  their  marriage,  and  his  re- 
gret that  he  had  not  consented  to  it  years 
ago.  But  it  is  so  easy  to  regret  ajler  a 
thing  has  occurred  which  we  might  have 
prevented  or  remedied.  I  have  not  yet 
made  up  my  mind  as  to  the  value  of  death- 
bed repentance.  Neither  am  I  satisfied 
that  we  may  sin  properly  for  six  days  in 
the  week,  in  a  comfortable  knowledge  that 
we  can  evade  the  penalty  by  crying,  "I 
have  sinned !  "  on  the  sabbath. 


However,  the  departed  Captain  Prue 
had  been  in  all  other  respects  a  kind  and 
tender  father,  and  no  word  of  rt'iiroach 
passed  the  lips  of  Bessie  an<l  John  Liddle. 
They  were  not  too  old  for  the  enjoyment  of 
life's  blessings.  Two  months  before  the 
present  sailing  of  the  "  Merry  Andrew " 
they  were  married ;  and  it  is  not  to  be 
doubted  that  the  circumstances  of  their  en- 
gagement promised  them  a  lasting  happi- 
ness. 

Mrs.  Liddle  had  a  maid,  a  beautiful 
brown-complexioned  girl,  whose  appear- 
ance might  have  suggested  some  suspicion 
of  a  gypsy  breed,  had  it  not  been  for  her 
manners,  which  showed  a  refinement  no 
gypsy-girl  could  have  acquired  in  her  va- 
grant life,  and  for  her  eyes,  which  were  gray 
desj)ite  their  brightness.  The  circiun- 
stances  of  her  becoming  Mrs.  Liddle's 
maid  were  somewhat  peculiar.  She  had 
presented  herself  to  that  lady  a  few  days 
before  the  "  Merry  Andrew  "  sailed,  and 
stating  that  she  had  heard  by  accident 
that  Mrs.  Liddle  wanted  a  maid  to  accom- 
pany her  on  the  voyage,  as'Ked  to  be 
engaged  in  that  capacity.  There  was 
something  so  winsome  about  the  girl,  that 
]Mrs.  Liddle  —  who  had  not  succeeded  in 
engaging  a  maid  willing  to  brave  the  ter- 
rors of  a  sea-voyage  —  was  at  once  attract- 
ed to  her,  and  lent  a  sj-mpathizing  ear  to 
her  story  of  being  alone  in  the  world  and 
without  friends.  Perhaps  it  was  Mrs.  Lid- 
dle's romantic  happiness  that  caused  her  to 
be  less  prudent  than  usual ;  but  certain  it 
is  that  the  girl  was  engaged,  and,  setting 
about  her  dtities  at  once,  proved  so  apt  and 
attentive,  that  ^Irs.  Liddle  congratulated 
herself  upon  her  decision.  Captain  Liddle 
did  not  interfere  in  the  matter;  but  when 
he  first  saw  the  girl  her  face  seemed  famil- 
iar to  him,  and  he  glanced  at  her  more 
than  once,  wondering  where  he  had  met 
her.  But  he  could  not  settle  the  doubt, 
and  the  matter  was  not  of  sufficient  impor- 
tance to  permanently  engage  his  attention. 
Tlius  it  was  that  Minnie  succeeded  in  ob- 
taining a  passage  in  the  "  Merry  Andrew," 
and  in  being  near  to  the  man  who  was 
dearer  to  her  than  all  other  earthly  consid- 
erations. She  was  not  influenced  by  any 
dishonoring  passion ;  she  simply  desired 
not  to  be  parted  from  the  man  she  loved. 
She  did  not  want  him  to  see  her  or  speak 
to  her  —  at  least,  so  she  thought  at 
that  time  ;  it  was  sufficient  ibr  her  to  know 
that  she  was  in  the  same  ship  with  him, 
and  that  she  would  perhaps  now  and  again 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  hero,  without  his 
knowing  that  she  was  by.  When  she  first 
made  up  her  mind  to  leave  her  home,  she 
did  not  pause  to  consider  what  would  be 
the   consequences  of  her  rash  act.     She 


144 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


was  unliappy  there  and  utterly  miserable  ; 
everybody  was  acjainst  her  ;  and  when  she 
discovered,  as  she  did  discover,  that  Susan 
was  playing  the  spy  upon  her,  she  became 
defiant  and  more  resolved.  She  loved  her 
father  and  honored  him ;  but  she  loved 
Joshua  with  all  the  passion  of  her  passion- 
ate nature,  and  in  her  mistaken  sense  of 
right  and  wrong,  the  stronger  love  usurped 
the  place  of  duty,  and  made  her  oblivious 
of  all  else.  She  was  blinded  by  love,  and 
by  love  in  which  there  was  not  a  shade  of 
impure  pas.^ion. 

She  had  had  at  first  a  wild  idea  of  dress- 
ing herself  in  sailor's  clothes,  and  had  saved 
a  few  shillings  towards  the  purchasing 
of  them  ;  but  her  success  with  Mrs.  Liddle 
set  that  aside.  When  she  went  on  to  the 
ship  with  her  mistress,  she  was  careful  that 
Joshua  should  not  see  her  ;  but  indeed,  if 
tliey  had  met  face  to  face  at  that  time,  it  is 
not  likely  that  he  would  have  recognized 
her  in  her  disguise  ;  for  his  thoughts  were 
with  Ellen,  and  his  heart  was  too  full  as 
yet  to  be  curious  about  the  passengers. 
But  the  Lascar  saw  her,  and  was  puzzled 
about  her  directly  he  set  eyes  upon  her  face. 
He  watched  her  like  a  cat,  and  yet  he  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  about  her.  He  had 
seen  her  often  in  Stepney,  but  he  could 
scarcely  believe  that  tJie  fair  gu'l  with  the 
beautiful  hair  and  this  dark  gypsy  with  the 
short  curls  were  one  and  the  same.  He 
knew  her  name  and  all  about  her  from  Sol- 
omon Fewster,  and  he  was  quite  ready  to 
believe  in  the  villany  of  Joshua.  Re- 
solved to  make  sure  of  the  value  of  his 
suspicions,  he  contrived  to  pass  close  hy  her 
as  she  was  taking  some  bandboxes  down 
stairs  to  the  saloon,  and  as  he  passed  her, 
he  muttered  the  name  of  '*  Minnie  Kin- 
dred." A  start,  a  frightened  look  over  her 
shoulders,  and  the  dropping  of  the  baml- 
boxts  down  the  stairs,  were  sufliicient  con- 
firmation of  his  doubts ;  and  before  the 
pilot  left  the  ship  he  gave  him  a  scrawl  for 
Solomon  Fewster  to  the  effect  that  Joshua 
and  Minnie  had  run  away  together.  He 
was  cautious  enough  also  to  send  upon 
another  piece  of  paper  a  private  scrawl  to 
Solomon  Fewster,  saying  he  was  not  quite 
sure,  but  that  Fewster  would  know  how  to 
act  if  Minnie  were  missing  from  home. 

But  wlien  the  Lascar  next  saw  Minnie's 
face,  which  was  not  until  the  "  Merry  An- 
drew "  was  a  thousand  miles  the  other  side 
of  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  his  doubts  returned, 
and  he  thought  that,  after  all,  he  must  have 
been  mistaken.  He  did  not  know  the  cun- 
ning of  Minnie.  In  the  startled  glance  she 
had  thrown  over  her  shoulder  when  her 
name  was  pronounced,  she  had  marked  the 
Lascar's  face,  so  that  she  was  sure  she 
would  know  it  again  ;  and  when,  after  the 


lapse  of  weeks,  she  detected  him  gazing  at 
at  her,  she  looked  at  him  so  boldly  and 
contemptuously  that  he  drooped  his  eyes 
before  her.  What  added  to  his  perplexity 
was,  that  he  never  saw  Joshua  speak  to  her, 
never  saw  him  look  at  her.  When  she 
came  on  deck,  which  she  did  very  rarely, 
and  never  unless  her  duty  to  her  mistress 
called  her  there,  she  was  careful  not  to 
give  Joshua  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
her  or  of  looking  closely  at  her ;  and  he, 
detecting  in  her  manner  a  wish  to  avoid 
any  little  attention  he  might  have  it  in  his 
mind  to  offer  her,  did  not  trouble  himself 
even  by  giving  her  a  thought.  She  was  as 
distant  and  reserved  to  all  the  ofliicers ; 
anel  in  a  little  wdiile  it  began  to  be  under- 
stood, that  the  handsome  gypsy-maid  did 
not  wish  to  be  spoken  to  by  any  one  on  board 
but  her  mistress ;  and  her  wish  was  scru- 
pulously respected. 

To  readers  who  are  not  well  acquainted 
with  ship-life,  it  may  seem  strange  that 
Minnie  should  have  been  able  to  keep  her- 
self so  free  from  observation ;  but  there 
really  can  be  —  and  there  often  is  —  as 
much  exclusiveness  on  board  a  passenger- 
ship  as  there  is  in  society  on  land.  You 
may  live  in  a  ship  for  months,  and  travel 
for  thousands  upon  thousands  of  miles  over 
the  seemingly  interminable  waste  of  waters, 
without  having  any  more  personal  knowl- 
edge of  those  who  sleep  wi[hin  a  few  yards 
of  you  than  you  would  have  of  them  if  you 
and  they  were  living  at  the  extreme  ends 
of  a  great  city.  When  the  long,  long  voy- 
age is  at  an  end,  and  the  ship  is  being 
piloted  into  the  bay  that  skirts  the  land  of 
Pisgah,  men  and  women  whom  you  do  not 
remember  ever  to  have  seen  before  appear 
magically  on  deck  ;  and  you  wonder  where 
they  come  from,  and  how  it  is  you  have  not 
set  eyes  on  them  during  all  the  time  that 
you  and  they  have  been  living  in  the  won- 
derful house  of  wood  and  iron  that  has 
brought  you  safely  over  the  raging  seas. 

Joshua  knew  the  Lascar  directly  he  saw 
him  on  board,  and  was  not  pleased  to  find 
that  he  was  one  of  the  crew.  But  the 
man  did  his  duty,  and  worked  as  well 
and  apparently  as  willingly  as  the  other 
sailors  ;  and  as  he  was  uniformly  respectful, 
Joshua  could  not,  even  if  he  had  been  so 
inclined,  treat  him  harshly  with  any  sense 
of  justice. 

And  so  the  "  Merry  Andrew,"  containing 
within  its  wooden  walls  its  load  of  human 
love  and  hate,  cleaves  through  the  ocean 
onward  to  its  goal  steadily  and  patiently, 
while  before  it,  with  every  new  rising  of 
the  sun,  a  monotonous  hill  of  waters,  never 
varying,  never  changing,  lies  in  the  gray 
distance  mocking  its  progress.  Through 
cold  weather,  through  hot  weatber,  burnt 


ON  BOARD  THE   "MERRY   ANDREW." 


145 


up  in  the  torrid  zone,  and  cliilled  by  winds 
which  rush  from  ice-bound  waters ;  through 
days  when  scarce  a  ripple  can  be  seen  on 
the  grand  ocean's  breast,  and  others  when 
the  waves  leap  at  its  throat  furiously,  as  an 
enemy  might  do  ;  through  nights  when 
the  moon  rises  tlircateningly  in  tlie 
heavens,  like  a  blazing  ball  of  lurid  fire, 
suggesting  thoughts  of  a  dreadful  to-mor- 
row ;  and  through  dark  nights,  solemnly 
beautilul,  when  the  track  of  the  vessel  is 
marked  by  the  brilliant  Medusaj  (the 
sailor's  girdle  of  Venus)  whicli  gleam  and 
shine — a  line  of  living  light — in  the 
wondrous  sea :  through  all  these,  with 
unerring  faitli,  the  sliip  pursues  its  way 
steadily  and  patiently  to  the  garden  of  the 
world.  Now  the  captain  smells  the  breeze, 
and  hoarse  cries,  unintelligible  to  all  but 
the  initiated,  travel  about  the  ship  to  clap 
on  sail  and  make  good  use  of  the  breath 
of  Boreas.  Then  the  ship  dashes  on  like 
a  god  drunk  with  joy,  dives  into  awful 
depths,  and  climbs  water-mountains  that 
a  moment  ago  threatened  to  fall  in  upon 
it  and  dash  it  to  pieces.  The  curling  seas 
break  over  the  deck,  and  the  toilers  that 
are  battling  with  wind  and  wave  cling  fast 
for  dear  life  to  ropes  and  spars ;  Avhile 
ever  and  anon  a  water-titan,  more  angry 
than  his  fellows,  breaks  against  the  side 
with  such  tremendous  force  that  the  vessel 
reels  and  quivers  beneath  the  mighty 
shock.  So  !  the  breeze  slackens  and  dies 
away ;  the  anger  of  the  sea  subsides,  and 
after  many  days  the  ship  is  becalmed. 
Then  the  passengers  lie  about  the  white 
deck  in  happy  indolence,  and  muse  and 
dream  of  the  great  whale  they  saw  a  while 
ago,  hung  round  with  sea-weed  and  barna- 
cles ;  of  the  cloudless  night,  star-gemmed 
above  and  below ;  of  the  beautiful  South- 
ern Cross  and  the  strange  Magellan 
clouds  ;  and  while  they  muse  and  dream, 
the  white  sky  stares  clown  lazily  into  blue 
peaceful  waters.  Every  one  on  board  is 
contented  with  the  change,  excepting  the 
skipper,  who  paces  the  deck  restlessly  and 
prays  for  the  breeze  to  spring  up  —  taking 
advantage  of  the  calm,  however,  like  the 
good  skipper  he  is,  to  splice  ropes,  and 
make  new  sails  and  mend  old  ones.  Soon 
wind  and  water  wake  into  life  again,  and 
the  waves  sparkle,  and  the  fresh  breeze 
blows  merrily,  when  a  sudden  cry  rings 
through  the  ship  that  a  man  is  overboard. 
The  next  moment  every  soul  on  board  is 
bending  over  the  bulwarks,  watching  the 
retreating  form  of  the  sailor,  who  is  float- 
ing on  his  back,  gazing  with  agonizing 
dread  at  the  cruel  beaks  of  the  swan-white 
albatrosses,  which  are  already  hovering 
above  him.  Quickly  the  ship  is  put 
about;  a  boat,  with  rowers  in  it,  is  low- 
10 


ered   into  the  sea ;  and  after  the  lapse  of 
many  anxious  moments  a  wild  cheer  rings 
through  the  air,   as  the  man    saved   from 
death,  is  dragged  into  the  boat.     lie  tells 
afterwards  to  eager  listeners  —  he  is  a  no- 
table man  on  board  from  that  day  forth  — 
how  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  floating 
on  his  back  for   full  a  day,  and  how  the 
only  fear  he   felt  was  that  the  albatrosses 
would  pick  out  his  eyes.     Then  the  follow- 
ing week   a  young  man  died  who  was  in  a 
consumption  when  he  was  first  brought  on 
to  the  ship,  and  who  had  hoped  that  the 
warm  breezes  of  the  South  would  give  him 
a  new  lease  of  life  ;  but  he  was  never  to 
breathe    the     balmy   southern   air.      The 
little  colony  of  human   beings  is  very  sad 
when  the  funeral  service  is  read  over  the 
body,   and  the  canvas  coffin   slips  with  a 
dull  thud  into  the  sea ;  and  a  fear  arises 
that  some  calamity  is   near.     And  surely 
that  night  there  is  a  fearful  storm.     The 
wind  howls   and  roars ;    heavy  seas  dash 
down  the  two  men  at  the  wheel ;  the  sails 
split  into  a  thousand  shreds ;    masts   and 
spars  crack   like    reeds.      The   sobs    and 
lamentations  of  the  passengers  are  dread- 
ful to  hear.      Minnie,   creeping   from  her 
cabin  into  the   saloon,   sees   a  dozen  men 
and  women,  half-dressed,  on  their   knees, 
praying  for  mercy  and  forgiveness,  making 
vows  of  reformation,  and  indulging  in  aU 
the  fear-impelled  evidences  of  a  suddenly 
awakened    contrition.      Pursued    by    the 
conviction  that  in  a  few  minutes  she  and 
all  in  the  ship  will  meet  their  doom,  she 
yearns  with  all  her  soul  to  see  Joshua,  to 
touch   him,    to   whisper   in   his    ear    that 
Minnie  is  by  his  side.     Then,  if  he  will 
but  take  her  hand,  she  will  be  content  to 
go  down  with  him  into  the  solemn  depths 
of  the  awful  sea.     She  creeps  to  the   wet 
stairs  leading  to  the  deck,  only  to  find  that 
the   hatches   are   fastened  down,  and  that 
she  is  a  prisoner.     She  tears  at  the  cruel 
door  that  separates  her  from  Joshua,  until 
her  fingers   bleed   and   her  strength   gives 
way.     She  calls  aloud  to  him,  but  she"  can- 
not hear  her  own  voice,  so  weak  is  it  and 
so  overwhelming  is  the   roar  of  the  storm. 
She  sinks,  despairing,   at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  in  the  agony  of  her  mind  and 
the  terror  of  the  time  so  entirely  loses  con- 
sciousness, that  the  cold  waters  which  steal 
down  the  hatchway  are  powerless  to  arouse 
her.     But  with  the  next  rising  of  the  sun 
the  storm  has  passed  away,  and  the  cap- 
tain  looks    joyful,    and    the    sailors    sing 
blithely  at  their  work,  and  the  passengers 
foro-et  their  vows  of  reformation.     So  the 
ship  sails  on  and  on,  until  land  is  sighted, 
and  the  passengers  begin  to  prepare  their 
best   clothes   to   go   on   shore    in.      Then 
comes  a  quiet  evening  when  the  "  Merry 


146 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL, 


Andrew  "  drops  quietly  down  the  beautiful 
bay,  and  as  evening  deepens  into  night, 
a  thousand  twinkling  lights  from  distant 
hills  welcome  the  wanderers  and  gladden 
their  hearts.  How  peaceful,  how  lovely, 
is  the  night  1  The  balmy  air,  the  restlul 
sound  of  dipping  oars,  the  floating  strains 
of  music  that  come  from  a  neighboring 
ship,  the  beautiful  star-lit  waters —  all 
these  bring  grateful  feelings  to  weary  trav- 
ellers, and  silent  prayers  of  thankfulness 
arise  to  Heaven  for  the  mercy  that  has 
brought  them  safely  through  the  perils  of 
the  mighty  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    WRECK   OF    THE   "  MERRY 
ANDREW." 

Built  in  the  bed  of  a  beautiful  valley 
and  on  gardened  slopes  rising  from  the 
waters  which  run  to  the  sea,  lies  Sydney, 
the  fliir  city  of  the  South.  It  is  spring  al- 
though the  month  is  October.  The  heavens 
are  bright  with  bright  clouds,  the  air  is 
sweet  with  perfume  from  tree  and  flower, 
the  bay  is  gemmed  with  gardened  isles  and 
promontories.  Outside  the  heads  which 
protect  the  bay  and  make  it  a  safe  I'efuge 
for  mighty  fleets,  the  sea  dashes  against 
hoary  rocks  which  stand  defiant  of  its 
wrath ;  but  to-day,  swayed  by  the  influence 
of  smiling  sun  and  cloud,  the  grim  old  walls 
sport  with  the  huge  waves,  splinter  them 
into  silver  spray,  and  send  them,  laughing, 
back  into  the  sea.  In  the  fair  land  girt  by 
the  blue  waters  of  the  South  Pacific  are 
orange-groves,  the  fragrance  of  whose  snow- 
white  blossoms  is  in  harmony  with  the  time 
and  place,  and  coral-trees  with  bright 
scarlet  flower,  and  trees  of  peach,  loquat, 
and  bread,  and  lull-slopes  where  the  vines 
grow,  and  myriad  other  evidences  of  Na- 
ture's beneficence.  All  things  that  see  the 
light  contribute  to  the  beauty  of  spring. 

"  'Tis  the  garden  of  the  world,"  said 
Captain  Liddle  to  his  wife,  as  they  stood 
apart  from  the  others  on  board  the  "  Merry 
Andrew  ;  "  "  'tis  the  garden  of  the  world," 
he  repeated,  gazing  at  the  lovely  hills  and 
gloriously-tinted  sky  with  that  sense  of 
gratitude  which  it  is  so  good  for  a  man  to 
experience. 

Her  thoughts  were  in  harmony  with  his, 
but  she  did  not  answer  him  immediately. 
She,  too,  was  sensible  of  the  beautiful  scene 
around  them,  and  stood  by  his  side  in  silent 
thankfulness.  To-morrow,  the  "  Merry 
Andrew,"  having  discharged  her  cargo,  and 


taken  in  another  (chiefly  hard  wood),  was 
to  set  sail  for  China,  where  she  had  a  char- 
ter for  London.  It  was  of  London  —  of 
home  —  that  the  captain's  wife  was  think- 
ing, and  presently  her  thoughts  found  simple 
expression. 

"  Yes,  John,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  indeed  a 
garden  —  a  beautiful  garden  ;  but  it  is  not 
home." 

"  Why  now,  Bessie,"  said  the  captain, 
looking  down  smilingly  upon  the  wife  he 
had  waited  and  worked  for  as  anxiously  as 
Jacob  did  for  Rachel,  "  could  you  not  con- 
tent yourself  here  ?  " 

«  All  my  life,  John  ?  " 

"  All  your  life,  my  dear." 

"  No,"  she  said  without  hesitation  ;  "  I 
should  always  be  pining  for  home.  Even 
if  we  were  poor,  and  it  were  a  necessity 
that  we  should  live  here,  I  don't  think  I 
could  manage  to  quite  content  myself.  But 
as  it  is  "  — 

"  As  it  is,  Bessie  "  —  repeated  her  hus- 
band, in  secret  delight  at  his  wife's  enthusi- 
asm. 

"  As  it  is,  John,"  she  responded  soflly, 
" '  there's  no  place  like  home.'  " 

Captain  Liddle  hummed  a  few  bars  of 
the  Englishman's  household  hymn ;  and 
then,  looking  to  that  part  of  the  ship  where 
Joshua  was  busy,  said  :  "  There  is  some  one 
on  board,  Bessie,  who  is  even  more  anxious 
to  get  home  than  you  are." 

"  Who  can  that  be,  John  ?  " 

"  My  handsome  mate,  as  you  call  him, 
Joshua  Marvel.  He  was  expressing  his 
delight  to  me  yesterday  that  we  should  be 
not  away  longer  than  we  thought  we  should 
when  we  started.  And  when  I  asked  him 
what  made  him  so  impatient  to  get  home, 
he  told  me  that  he  was  married  three  days 
before  we  left  Gravesend.  How  would  you 
have  liked  that  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  allowed  you  to  go," 
said  Mrs.  Liddle,  with  a  very  positive  shake 
of  the  head. 

"  Easily  said,  little  woman ;  not  so  easily 
managed,  though,  if  I  had  been  third  mate 
instead  of  captain.  Thank  your  stars  that 
you  married  a  captain." 

"  So  I  do,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Liddle  ten- 
derly —  so  tenderly,  that  her  husband  would 
have  stooped  and  kissed  her,  if  they  had 
been  alone.     "  Was  it  a  love-match  ?  " 

"Marvel's?  Certainly,  I  should  say. 
When  I  went  to  his  house  in  London  to  see 
him,  I  saw  a  very  beautiful  girl  in  his  room. 
Perhaps  it  is  to  her  that  he  is  married." 

"  Very  beautiful,  sir  V  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Liddle,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  I  am 
almost  inclined  to  take  you  to  task  for  that ; 
but  I'll  ask  you,  instead,  to  describe  her." 

"  I  can't,  Bess ;  'tis  not  in  my  line.  I 
tell  you  what,  though  •  your  maid  would  be 


THE  WRECK   OF  THE   "MERRY  ANDREW." 


147 


like  her,  if  she  was  fair  instead  of  brown, 
and  if  she  had  long  hair." 

"  Mtikino;  eyes  at  my  maid,  sir  !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Liddle,  with  a  pretty  wilfulness. 
"  When  I  get  you  home,  I  shall  lock  you 
up." 

Captain  Liddle  laughed,  and  pinched  his 
wife's  cheek. 

'■•  I  am  glad  it  was  a  love-match,"  she 
said ;  "  I  like  Mr.  Marvel  all  the  better  for 
that.     You  ought  to  do  something  I'or  him." 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,  Bessie,  if  Mar- 
vel was  second  mate  on  our  next  voyage," 
was  the  captain's  reply.  "  Now  go  and  see 
to  the  stowing  away  of  your  curiosities." 

Dm-ing  the  time  that  the  "  Merry  Andrew  " 
had  been  lying  in  Sydney  Harbor,  Mrs. 
Liddle  and  her  gypsy  maid  had  been  liv- 
ing on  shore,  and  liad  only  come  on  board  to- 
day. Her  husband's  last  remark  referred 
to  a  number  of  parcels  which  were  scat- 
tered about  the  poop,  containing  curiosities 
she  had  collected  in  that  strange  new  world 
—  such  as  feathers  and  skins,  and  curious 
weapons  and  plants  —  designed  to  astonish 
her  friends  at  home. 

Captain  Liddle's  intention  to  promote 
Joshua  had  been  quietly  whispered  by  the 
sailors  to  one  another  for  some  weeks  past, 
although  the  captain,  from  motives  of  pru- 
dence and  a  proper  regard  for  discipline, 
had  made  no  mention  of  his  intention,  even 
to  his  wife,  until  now.  Captain  Liddle  re- 
spected Joshua,  and  often  engaged  him  in 
familiar  conversation.  He  saw  much  to  ad- 
mire in  the  young  sailor,  and  recognized  in 
him  qualities,  both  intellectual  and  profes- 
sional, of  a  far  higher  standard  than  those 
exhibited  by  liis  other  officers.  A  sailor 
more  deeply  impressed  than  Joshua  was 
with  the  highest  qualification  a  sailor  can 
possess,  duty,  never  walked  the  deck  of  a 
ship ;  and  this  merit,  added  to  a  quick  nat- 
ural intelligence,  made  him  a  great  favorite 
with  Captain  Liddle.  He  was  much  liked, 
also,  by  the  sailors  ;  for  while  his  sense  of 
duty  made  him  firm,  his  kindliness  of  heart 
made  him  gentle.  Sailors  resemble  women 
in  one  particular :  the  more  they  respect  a 
man,  the  better  they  like  him.  Joshua, 
however,  had  two  bitter  enemies  on  board : 
one  was  the  Lascar,  who  was  compelled  to 
conceal  his  hate ;  the  other  was  the  second 
mate,  Scadbolt  by  name,  who  made  no  se- 
cret of  his  animosity.  Scadbolt,  being 
both  an  inefficient  officer  and  one  who  liked 
to  shirk  his  work,  had  been  sharply  spoken 
to  by  Captain  Liddle  on  several  occasions. 
From  this  may  have  sprung  the  rumor  of 
his  intended  deposition ;  and  when  it 
reached  his  ears,  it  made  him  venomous. 
Between  Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar  about 
this  time  there  sprang  up  a  kind  of  intelli- 
gence with  regard  to  Joshua,  which  boded 


him  no  good  if  he  should  chance  to  get  into 
their  power.  No  conversation  passed  be- 
tween them  on  the  sul)ject ;  but  each  knew 
instinctively  that  the  other  hated  the  up- 
start third  mate  of  the''  Merry  Andrew." 

With  his  usual  foresight  and  shrewdness, 
Captain  Liddle  had  announced  his  readi- 
ness to  take  a  small  number  of  pa^^sengers 
to  China,  or  to  London  by  way  of  China  — 
rather  a  roundabout  route  home,  it  must  be 
confessed,  but  one  which  recommended  it- 
self to  certain  colonists  from  its  novelty, 
and  from  the  opportunity  it  afTorded  them 
of  seeing  something  of  the  wonderful  land 
where  so  many  Sons  of  the  Moon  lived  and 
had  their  being.  Captain  Liddle  knew 
what  he  was  about  by  stating  that  he  could 
provide  accommodation  for  only  a  few  pas- 
sengers, for  only  a  few  took  passage.  Here 
is  the  way-bill  :  — 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pigeon  and  daughter,  the 
latter  five  years  of  age. 

Mr.  Bracegirdle. 

Stephen  and  Rachel  Homebush,  brother 
and  sister. 

James  Heartsease.  7 

Harry  Wall.  j" 

Rough-and-Ready. 

So  that  there  were  nine  passengers  in 
all,  including  little  Emma  Pigeon. 

The  crew  numbered  twenty-eight  persons, 
all  told  ;  and  these,  with  the  passengers  and 
the  captain's  wife  and  her  maid,  made  the 
total  number  of  souls  on  board  thirty-nine. 

Mr.  Pigeon  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy 
squatter,  who  had  lately  died.  Desirous  of 
o-ivin'T  his  wife  and  child  better  advantages 
than  could  be  obtained  in  the  colony,  he 
had  sold  out  his  property,  and  was  now  on 
his  way  home,  for  the  purpose  of  settling 
in  the  "  old  country."  He  was  a  rough 
kind  of  a  gentleman  at  the  best,  as  might 
be  expected  of  one  who  had,  been  brought 
up  in  the  bush ;  but  he  had  a  tender  heart, 
and  was  passionately  devoted  to  his  wife 
and  child.  i\Irs.  Pigeon  was  a  sparkling 
little  creature,  full  of  life  and  bustle,  never 
still,  and  with  a  laugh  so  merry  and  conta- 
gious, that  every  soul  on  board  felt  glad 
when  it  was  first  heard  on  the  ship.  Little 
Emma,  as  the  child  was  called,  was  a  small 
edition  of  her  mother,  with  precisely  the 
same  natural  gayety  of  disposition.  The 
fiimily  were  in  high  glee  at  the  prospect  of 
going  "  home  "  (even  Little  Emma,  born  in 
The  bush,  had  been  taught  so  to  call  it),  and 
found  in  the  pleasures  of  imagination  some 
compensation  for  the  natural  sorrow  they 
felt  in  leaving  the  bright  and  beautiful  land 
of  the  South. 

Mr.  Bracegirdle  was  a  mystery.  No  one 
knew  any  thing  about  him  ;  and  as  no  one 
inquired,  and  he  was  not  communicative, 
his  antecedents  could  only  be  guessed  at. 


148 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


Steplien  and  Rachel  Homebusli  were  a 
hard-featured  morose-looking  couple,  whose 
piety  was  generally  recognized  as  unim- 
peachable, but  whose  good-nature  was  cer- 
tainly open  to  question.  And  this  induces 
the  reflection,  that  it  is  singular  how  often 
piety  and  sourness  go  hand  in  hand.  It 
almost  seems  as  if,  with  the  majority  of  so- 
called  pious  people,  religious  contemplation 
chills  the  generous  impulse,  and  hardens 
the  heart  instead  of  softening  it.  The 
light  of  truth  tails  on  them  not  like  dew, 
but  like  a  miasma. 

James  Heartsease  and  Harry  Wall  are 
bracketed  in  the  way-bill,  as  they  were 
bracketed  in  heart.  They  were  friends  who 
had  travelled  together  all  over  the  world. 
They  were  enthusiastic  sketchers ;  and  it 
was  whispered  that  they  were  writing  a 
book,  which  caused  them  to  be  looked  up  to 
with  a  kind  of  veneration. 

Rough-and-Ready  was  as  great  a  mysteiy 
as  Mr.  Bracegirdle,  but  whereas  nothing 
was  known  of  Mr.  Bracegirdle's  antecedents, 
so  many  stories  Avere  current  concerning 
Rouoh-and-Ready,  tbat  the  difficulty  was  to 
hit  upon  the  right  one.  None  of  them 
Avere  at  all  creditable  to  him.  One  story 
was,  that  he  was  a  bushranger  ;  another, 
that  he  was  a  stockman,  who  had  shot  down 
any  number  of  blacks ;  another,  that  he 
was  a  runaway  convict.  The  name  he 
chose  to  go  by  fitted  any  one  or  all  of  these 
stories.  He  engaged  his  passage  in  the 
name  of  Mr.  Rough  ;  but  before  he  had 
been  on  board  half  an  hour,  every  sailor 
knew  him  as  Rough-and-Ready.  The  lady 
passengers  cast  cold  looks  upon  him ;  but 
the  sailors  adored  him  ;  and  he,  taking  the 
aversion  of  the  women  and  the  admiration 
of  the  men  very  philosophically,  was  as 
nmch  at  home  on  board  the  "  Merry  An- 
drew "  as  the  captain  himself.  Captain  Lid- 
die  saw  nothing  objectionable  in  Rough- 
and-Ready.  He  was  prone,  as  you  know,  to 
form  his  own  judgments  of  people,  and 
was  one  of  the  small  minority  of  men  in 
the  world  who  decline  to  be  led  by  the 
nose.  There  was  nothing  very  smooth  or 
polished  about  Rough-and-Ready,  as  was 
implied  by  his  name  ;  but  he  had  a  bright 
eye,  a  free  manner,  and  a  civil  tongue  — 
sufficient  recommendations  to  Captain  Lid- 
die's  good  favor. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  "  Merry  An- 
drew "  weighed  anchor,  and  started  lor  Chi- 
na. Joshua  rubbed  his  hands,  and  thought 
with  a  light  heart  of  his  pretty  Ellen  and  his 
i'riend  Dan,  and  his  old  mother  and  father, 
and  that  good  friend  the  Old  Sailor.  He 
saw  himself  walking  along  the  familiar 
street  in  Stepney,  and  saw  all  the  neigh- 
bors running  out  to  greet  him,  and  saw 
Ellen,  his  own  dear  little  wife,   fluttering 


into  his  arms,  and  nestling  there  as  prettily 
as  could  be.  What  wonder  that  his  face 
grew  bright,  and  that  he  went  about  his 
work  with  a  cheerfulness  that  brought  a 
darker  scowl  into  the  face  of  the  Lascar ! 
This  worthy  had  not  advanced  a  single 
step  towards  the  furtherance  of  the  scheme 
to  which  he  had  in  a  sort  of  measure 
pledged  himself  to  Solomon  Fewster  before 
he  left  Gravesend.  True,  he  had  gone  on 
board  the  "  Merry  Andrew "  with  the 
vaguest  of  ideas  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
he  should  be  able  to  carry  out  his  inten- 
tions regarding  Joshua.  The  fact  was,  that 
he  had  been  only  anxious  to  get  away  from 
Encrland  tor  a  time ;  the  brawl  in  which  he 
had  been  engaged  and  had  used  his  knife 
was  a  serious  one,  and  he  was  frightened 
for  his  own  safety.  But  he  had  jjlayed  his 
cards  cunningly  with  Solomon  Fewster,  and 
had  succeeded  in  extracting  money  and 
valuables  from  his  cowardly  master;  thus 
providing  for  his  safety,  and  putting  money 
in  his  purse  at  the  same  time.  Joshua  had 
kept  a  sharp  eye  upon  him  during  the  whole 
of  the  voyage,  and  he  was  compelled  to  be 
careful  and  wary  ;  for  he  knew  that  Joshua 
was  a  favorite  Avith  the  captain,  and  that  he 
would  be  clapped  in  irons  upon  the  first 
sign  of  insubordination.  Then  he  was  dis- 
appointed in  finding  that  not  another  sailor 
on  board  but  himself  owed  Joshua  a  grudge, 
or  was  envious  of  him  ;  so  that  he  was  alone 
in  his  hate  until  that  instinctive  understand- 
ing took  place  between  him  and  the  second 
mate  Scadbolt,  which  made  Joshua  a  mark 
for  their  mutual  animosity.  The  Lascar 
would  have  dearly  liked  to  do  Joshua  an  ill 
turn ;  but  he  could  not  see  his  way  to  the 
accomplishment  of  his  wish.  But  even 
from  this  thwarting  of  his  desire  he  derived 
a  kind  of  malicious  satisfaction  ;  for  he 
could  not  help  thinking  with  pleasure  of 
the  dismay  and  disappointment  Solomon 
Fewster  would  experience  Avhen  Joshua 
came  home  safe  and  sound.  He  could  not 
help  chuckling  to  himself  as  he  thought, 
"  \Vliat  a  way  he'll  be  in  Avhen  the  '  Merry 
Andrew  '  gets  into  Blackwall,  and  how  he'll 
storm  and  swear  1  But  he'd  better  mind 
what  he's  about  with  me.  I  owe  him  one 
for  that  threat  of  giving  me  into  custody 
for  stealing  the  things  he  gave  me."  Cer- 
tainly no  such  sentiment  as  "  Honor  among 
thieves "  found  place  in  the  breast  of  the 
Lascar. 

And  Minnie  ?  She  had  not  calculated 
the  effect  of  living  within  herself,  as  she 
had  been  compelled  to  do.  Loving  Joshua 
as  she  did  with  all  her  heart  and  soul,  she 
had  deceived  herself  by  believing  that  she 
would  be  happy  if  she  were  only  in  the  ship 
with  him.  Happy  she  would  have  been, 
had  he  known  her  and   spoken  kindly  to 


THE  "WRECK  OF  THE  "MERRY  ANDREW." 


149 


her ;  bnt  the  gulf  tliat  divided  thora  seemed 
to  her  to  be  wider  than  it  would  have  been 
had  thousands  of  miles  of  ocean  been  be- 
tween them.  She  had  time  for  reflection 
on  board  ship ;  and  reflection,  althou2:h  it 
did  not  turn  the  current  of  her  love,  nor 
lessen  it,  added  to  her  misery.  At  one 
time  during  the  voyage  she  had  been  so 
unhappy  that  she  was  almost  on  the  point 
of  throwing  herself  overboard  ;  and  indeed 
had  she  known  of  the  marriage  between 
Joshua  and  Ellen  she  might  really  have 
done  so.  Happily  for  her  she  was  not 
aware  of  the  marriage,  and  was  spared  the 
contemplated  sin.  But  she  was  on  a  rack 
of  love  and  doubt,  and  was  truly  unhappy 
in  the  present,  and  despairing  in  the  future. 
She  went  about  her  work  in  a  dull  mechan- 
ical way,  keeping  aloof  from  every  one,  and 
never  goin^  on  deck  unless  her  duties 
called  her  there.  Mrs.  Liddle  saw  that  the 
poor  (jirl  was  miserable,  and  questioned  her. 
But  liere  Minnie's  rebellious  nature  came 
into  play ;  she  shut  her  heart  against  the 
proffered  sympathy,  and  returned  cold  an- 
swers to  her  mistress's  kind  questions.  Mrs. 
Liddle  was  sorry,  bi;t  not  otfended;  she 
saw  that  the  girl  was  struggling  with  a 
great  grief.  "  A  love  affair,  depend  upon 
it  John,"  she  said  to  her  husband  ;  and  she 
respected  Minnie's  desire  not  to  have  her 
confidence  openly  intruded  upon.  Minnie's 
behavior  on  board  inspired  Mrs.  Liddle 
with  the  conviction  that  her  maid  was  a 
thoroughly  good  girl,  and  she  could  overlook 
a  great  deal  in  a  girl  who  behaved  so  well. 
And  notwithstanding  ilinnie's  retired  be- 
havior, she  was  an  object  of  interest  to  all. 
The  officers  and  sailors  called  her  "  the  shy 
beauty,"  "  the  pretty  gypsy-maid,"  '•  the 
brown-faced  little  beautj^ ;  "  and,  when  she 
came  towards  them  with  her  eyes  downcast, 
made  way  for  her  with  almost  as  much  def- 
erence as  they  did  for  the  captain's  wife. 
But  she  spoke  no  word  to  any  one  of  them, 
and  lived  her  life  of  self-imposed  isolation 
in  grief  and  silence. 

The  wind  was  fair,  and  a  favorable  voy- 
age was  anticipated.  Sail  after  sail  was 
clapped  on,  and  Captain  Liddle  walked  up 
and  down  the  d«ck  with  a  beaming  face 
and  in  a  state  of  high  satisfaction.  Five 
of  the  passengers  were  below  in  the  first 
agonies  of  sea-sickness.  Four  were  on  deck 
—  the  two  friends,  James  Heartsease  and 
Harry  Wall,  Stephen  Homebush,  and 
Rough-and-Ready.  The  friends  had  trav- 
elled too  many  thousands  of  miles  upon  the 
ocean  to  be  troubled  by  sea-sickness  now ; 
they  had  struggled  with  and  vanquished 
that  fell  enemy  years  ago.  Rouiih-and- 
Ready  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  give  in  ; 
he  treated  sea-sickness  as  he  treated  every 
thing  else  that  came  to  him  in  a  threaten- 


ing: shape — he  laughed  in  its  face.  Per- 
haps previous  experience  enabled  him  to 
do  so  with  impunity.  Stephen  Homebush 
was  not  so  fortunate.  He  had  a  large 
stock  of  bile,  and  (speaking  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  well-known  great  man)  when  he 
had  got  rid  of  a  great  deal,  he  would  have 
a  great  deal  left.  He  certainly  got  rid  of 
a  great  deal  upon  this  occasion  ;  and  accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  wrestle  against  yearn- 
ings of  the  flesh  and  terribles  foes,  this  foe 
was  too  powerful  for  him.  and  this  yearning 
of  the  flesh  sent  him  into  a  deep  ])it  of 
tribulation  from  which  he  saw  no  chance 
of  escape.  Some  kind  friend  had  advised 
him  not  to  go  below  when  he  was  attacked  ; 
and  in  accordance  with  that  advice  he  re- 
mained on  deck,  possessed  by  a  spirit  so 
fiendish  as  not  only  to  set  at  nau'^ht  the 
pious  exhortations  of  the  worthy  Stephen, 
but  even  to  change  words  of  piety  into  ut- 
terances that  sounded  very  like  anathemas. 
Even  in  the  midst  of  his  agony,  he  looked 
rotind  for  some  one,  as  was  his  wont  in  his 
happier  moods,  upon  whom  to  pour  the 
vials  of  his  spleen  ;  for  Stephen  Homebush 
had  this  peculiar  conviction  with  respect 
to  himself.  His  invariable  verdict  when 
tribulation  visited  other  persons  was,  that 
it  was  a  just  punishment  —  it  was  a  visita- 
tion of  the  Lord.  But  there  was  no  such 
acknowledgment  regarding  any  vexation 
by  which  he  was  afflicted.  In  that  case 
his  opinion  was,  that  he  was  suffering  for 
the  sins  of  others,  and  the  conviction  was  to 
him  a  sufficient  proof  of  his  own  worthiness 
and  of  the  wickedness  and  unworthinessof 
every  other  person.  He  looked  round  for 
some  one  on  whom  to  vent  his  spleen  ;  but 
no  person  met  his  eye^ut  Rough-and- 
Ready,  whose  merry  face  and  cheerful  man- 
ner were  an  additional  sting  to  the  mis- 
erable Stephen.  Rough-and-Ready  nodded 
encouragingly  to  the  pale-faced  Stephen, 
who  was  leaning  against  the  bulwarks,  and 
said  cheerfully,  and  really  from  no  ill-na- 
tured motive,  — 

"  You  will  be  better  by  and  by,  'Mr. 
Homebush.  Besides,  it  will  do  you 
good." 

These  last  words  were  unfortunately 
chosen  ;  for  the  afflicted  Stephen  —  who  had 
heard  the  discreditable  stories  attached  to 
R)ugh-and-Ready,  and  who  had  already 
judged  him  as  a  sinner  of  the  first  magni- 
tude—  glared  at  the  speaker,  and  said  with 
difficulty,  "  Scoffer,  sinner  !  " 

He  intended  to  add,  "  Repent !  "  but  a 
sudden  paroxysm  compelled  him  to  confide 
that  exhortation  to  the  waves. 

Rough-and-Ready  laughed  gayly,  and 
turning  on  his  heel,  met  the  captain,  and 
fell  into  step  with  him. 

"  Some  of  the  sailors  are  grumbUng,"  ob- 


150 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


served  Rough-and-Ready,  "because  we 
have  set  sail  on  a  Friday." 

"  Grumble  !  "  exclaimed  Captain  Liddle, 
pettishly.  "  Ay,  and  they'll  grumble  till 
the  end  of  the  voyage.  I  have  had  that 
sort  of  thing  occur  to  me  before.  This  is 
the  fifth  time  I  have  started  on  a  Frid;\y, 
and  nothing  more  unusual  ever  occurred 
than  occurred  at  any  other  time.  But  the 
men  wouldn't  believe  it,  and  won't  believe 
it  now.  If  a  head-wind  comes,  it  is  because 
we  set  sail  on  a  Friday  ;  if  we're  becalmed, 
because  we  set  sail  on  a  Friday;  if  there's 
a  squall,  because  we  set  sail  on  a  Friday  ; 
if  a  man  tumbles  overboard,  because  we  set 
sail  on  a  Friday  ;  if  we  lose  a  spar,  if  a 
sail  is  split,  because  we  set  sail  on  a  Fri- 
day. I  do  believe,  if  one  of  them  cuts  his 
finger,  he  thinks,  '  Curse  the  skipper ! 
What  the  something  unmentionable  did  he 
set  sail  on  a  Friday  for  ?  '  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  skipper,"  said  Rough- 
and-Ready,  smiling  and  pointing  to  Stephen 
Homebush,  whose  head  was  hanging  over 
the  bulwarks,  as  if  its  owner  were  curious- 
ly interested  in  the  swelling  of  the  waves, 
"that  Mr.  Homebush  is  quite  ready  to 
side  with  the  men,  and  to  declare  that 
he  is  sea-sick  because  you  set  sail  on  a  Fri- 
day." 

Captain  Liddle  smiled  at  the  pious  suf- 
ferer, and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  was 
evident,  although  he  said  nothing  upon  the 
subject,  that  he  had  already  formed  a  not 
too  favorable  opinion  of  Stej^hen  Homebush. 

For  the  first  three  days  the  prognostica- 
tions of  the  sailors,  that  "  something  "  was 
sure  to  happen  because  the  voyage  was 
commenced  upon  a  Friday,  did  not  seem 
Ukely  to  be  realized.  The  weather  was 
fine,  the  wind  was  fair,  and  every  stitch  of 
canvas  was  set.  But  the  grumbling  did 
not  cease,  and  for  a  very  good  reason. 
Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar  did  their  best  to 
keep  the  subject  warm,  and  between  them 
managed  to  foment  and  increase  the  dissat- 
isfaction. Captain  Liddle,  cognizant  of 
this,  became  stern  and  strict,  and  took  but 
little  rest.  He  did  not  know  who  it  was 
that  was  encouraging  the  men  ;  he  suspect- 
ed Scadbolt,  and,  estimating  his  second 
mate  at  his  proper  worth,  he  wanted  but 
the  slightest  confirmation  of  his  suspicions 
to  take  prompt  action  against  the  offender. 
By  this  time  the  passengers  had  recovered 
from  their  sea-sickness,  and  begun  to  assem- 
ble on  the  deck.  Stephen  and  Rachel 
Homebush  set  to  work  vigorously  in  their 
task  of  reclaiming  the  sinners,  in  which 
category  every  person  but  themselves  on 
board  was  included ;  but  though  they  prayed 
(for  others),  and  groaned  (for  others),  and 
"  wrestled  "  (for  others),  their  efforts  were 
not  crowned   with   success.     Indeed,  the 


only  person  who  tolerated  them  at  all  was 
the  man  who  had  the  worst  character,  and 
whom  nearly  everybody  avoided.  Rough- 
and-Ready  was  a  treasure  to  the  pious 
couple.  To  him,  as  the  most  illustrious 
sinner  within  their  reach,  they  imparted 
the  knowledge  of  their  own  goodness  and 
of  everybody  else's  wickedness ;  him  they 
informed  that  their  special  mission  (out  of 
heaven)  was  to  lead  him  to  the  waters  of 
grace,  and  that  his  special  mission  was  to 
be  led  thereto  by  them.  They  prayed  for 
him  wrathfully,  in  stony  voices,  and  would 
have  wept  over  him,  had  he  allowed  them 
to  do  so.  And  when  they  found  that  they 
made  no  impression  upon  hiin  (for  it  was 
only  his  good-nature  that  induced  him  to 
listen  to  them),  they  groaned  the  louder, 
and  prayed  the  longer,  and  wrestled  the 
more,  because  of  the  hardness  of  man's 
heart.  It  was  a  curious  thing,  seeing  how 
good  they  were  and  how  bad  he  was,  to  ob- 
serve the  conduct  of  Little  Emina,  Mrs, 
Pigeon's  five-year-old  dan<T!iter,  towards  the 
saints  and  the  sinner.  The  little  child  ran 
away  from  the  saints,  and  cried  and  strug- 
gled when  Rachel  Homebush  took  her  hand ; 
but  when  she  saw  the  sinner,  she  ran  into 
his  arms  with  perfect  confidence,  and  sub- 
mitted to  be  tossed  in  the  air  and  to  be 
kissed  by  him  very  much  as  if  she  liked  it. 
But  then  children  have  no  judgment. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  thh-d  day  the 
wea  her  became  threatening,  and  the  sails 
were  taken  in.  This  set  the  grumblers  at 
work  more  busily  than  >  ever.  Some  time 
before  midnight,  the  watch  bein^  in  charge 
of  the  second  mate,  Captain  Liddle  came 
unaware  upon  two  of  the  men  who  were 
grumbling,  and  sternly  asked  them  what 
they  were  grumbling  at.  The  Lascar  was 
one  of  the  twain,  and  of  course  he  did  not 
reply ;  but  the  other  man,  being  pressed  by 
the  captain,  pulled  at  his  forelock,  and  said 
that  the  sailors  weren't  pleased  because  the 
voyage  had  been  commenced  on  their  un- 
lucky day. 

"  And  that's  the  cause  of  this  rough 
weather,  eh  ?  "  questioned  Captain  Liddle 
sarcastically. 

"  Yes,  your  honor,"  was  the  reply.  "  Why, 
even  the  second  mate  says  so." 

"  Does  he  ?  "  cried  Captain  Liddle,  turn- 
ini-  wrathfully  upon  Scadbolt,  who  at  that 
moment  approached  them.  "  What  do  you 
mean,  Mr.  Scadbolt,  by  spreading  disatis- 
faction  among  the  crew  ?  " 

Brought  face  to  face  with  the  man  to 
whom  he  had  spoken,  Scadbolt,  who  was 
no  coward,  gave  him  a  tlireatening  look, 
and  said,  — 

"Well,  sir,  I've  an  objection  to  setting 
sail  on  Friday ;  and,  as  you  see,  the  men 
have  the  same  objection." 


THE  WRECK   OF  .THE    "MERRY   ANDREW" 


151 


"  I  see  quite  cnouo;h  to  warn  you  to  be 
careful,"  said  Captain  Liddle  in  a  deter- 
mined tone ;  '•  I  have  warned  you  before,  and 
I  warn  you  now  for  the  last  time.  Keep 
your  objeetions  to  yourself,  sir,  and  trouble 
yourself  only  with  your  duty.  —  And  you, 
men,  attend  to  yours,  and  let  me  hear  no 
more  of  this  nonsense.  You  know  me  well 
enough  to  know  that  I  will  not  be  trifled 
with." 

The  men  slouched  away,  and  Scadbolt 
was  obliged  to  suppress  his  passion  lor  the 
time  :  but  it  burned  the  fiercer  for  that. 

The  next  day  the  weather  became 
worse,  and  circumstances  thus  gave  a  color 
to  the  dissatisfaction,  which  grew  stronger 
every  hour.  But  the  captain  was  equal 
to  both  emergencies  ;  like  a  good  sailor  and 
a  stout  captain  he  grappled  with  the  storm 
that  raged  without,  and  with  that  scarcely 
less  dangerous  one  that  raged  within.  He 
was  seldom  off  the  deck,  and  when  he  did 
go  down  to  snatch  an  hour's  rest,  he  left 
Joshua  on  board  to  watch  in  his  place. 
For  Captain  Liddle  was  no*^  slow  to  discov- 
er that  Joshua  was  the  man  of  all  the  other 
men  on  the  ship  upon  whose  faithfulness 
he  could  best  depend.  He  said  this  many 
times  to  his  wife,  and  often  spoke  to  her  in 
praise  of  Joshua.  Minnie  heard  this,  and 
heard  also  of  the  dissatisfaction  among  the 
sailors,  and  how  Scadbolt,  the  second  mate, 
had  fomented  the  dissatisfaction.  About 
this  time  a  whisper  spread  among  the  pas- 
sengers that  there  were  three  or  tour  sailors 
in  the  crew  who  only  wanted  a  favorable 
opportunity  to  break  into  open  mutiny. 
Confirmation  of  this  was  given  by  the  cap- 
tain, on  the  third  day  of  the  bad  weather, 
when  the  ship  was  scudding  along  under 
bare  poles.  He,  coming  down  hastily  into 
the  saloon,  went  into  his  cabin,  and  made 
his  appearance  in  a  fiew  minutes  with  a  belt 
buckled  round  his  waist  and  two  pistols  in 
it.  The  passengers,  looking  at  each  other 
in  astonishment,  received  another  shock 
presently  by  the  surprising  appearance  of 
Kough-and-Eeady.  His  dress  hitherto  had 
been  of  a  respectable  character  —  black 
coat  and  waistcoat  and  tweed  trousers ;  but 
now  he  had  on  a  red-serge  shirt,  and  a 
rough  billycock-hat,  and  buckskin  riding- 
trousers,  and  boots  that  reached  half-way 
up  his  thighs,  and  a  red-silk  sash  round  his 
waist,  with  knife  and  pistol  stuck  therein. 
You  may  guess  the  alarm  he  caused  among 
the  ladies  ;  the  only  passenger  who  seemed 
pleased  at  the  change  in  his  appearance 
was  little  Emma  Pigeon,  who  skipped  round 
him  delightedly,  and  clapped  her  hands  in 
approval  of  his  bright-colored  shirt  and 
sash.  Rough-and-Ready  caught  the  child 
in  his  arms  and  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss,  and 
nodded  cordially  to  the  fellow-passengers 


who  had  so  studiously  avoided  him.  They 
were  so  frightened  at  his  desperate  a])pear- 
ance,  that  they  Ibrgot  to  frcjwn  upon  him 
as  they  were  wont  to  do.  Rough-and-Rea<ly 
then  going  on  deck,  walked  up  to  Captain 
Lidille,  and  said,  — 

"  You  can  depend  upon  me,  skipper. 
I've  seen  this  sort  of  thing  before." 

Captain  Liddle  gave  him  a  look  of  grate- 
ful acknowledgment,  and  they  made  their 
way  into  the  nudst  of  a  knot  of  sailors  Avho 
were  standing  irresolutely  about  Scadbolt 
and  Joshua.  Joshua  was  cool  but  per- 
fdexed,  and  Scadbolt  was  in  a  furious  rage. 

"  Whose  watch  is  this  ?  "  asked  Captain 
Liddle.  He  knew  well  enough,  but  he  had 
a  motive  for  asking. 

"  Mine,  sir,"  answered  Joshua. 

"  What  are  the  men  hanging  about  for?  " 

"  I  gave  an  order,  sir,  and  Mr.  Scadbolt 
countermanded  it." 

"  Give  your  order  again,  Mr.  Marvel." 

Joshua  did  so ;  and  as  Scadbolt,  in  a 
voice  thick  with  passion,  was  desiring  the 
men  not  to  obey  it,  Captain  Liddle  very 
promjjtly  knocked  him  down.  Calling  two 
of  the  sailors  by  name.  Captain  Liddle  or- 
dered them  to  put  the  second  mate  in  irons. 
After  the  confusion  which  followed  the  ex- 
ecution of  this  order  had  partially  subsided, 
Captain  Liddle  cried  out,  — 

"  Now,  then,  what  have  you  to  complain 
of?     Speak  out  like  men." 

At  this  one  of  the  sailors  stepped  for- 
ward, and  said  respectfully,  — 

'•  Well,  your  honoi",  some  of  us  think  it 
would  have  been  better  if  we  had  stopped 
in  port  another  day." 

"  That's  a  matter  of  opinion,"  said  the 
captain.  "  You  have  a  right  to  yours,  but 
I  have  a  right  to  mine  also,  and  I  am  mas- 
ter of  this  ship.  Now  I  ask  yoti  as  sensi- 
ble men  and  good  sailors,  is  it  right  that 
you  should  forget  your  duty  because  we 
don't  agree  upon  a  certain  point  ?  Do  you 
know  what  this  means,  my  men  ?  "  point- 
ing to  Scadbolt.  "  It  means  mutiny. 
What  would  any  one  of  you  do  if  you 
were  skipper  in  my  place  ?  You  would  put 
a  stop  to  it  at  once,  as  I  have  done,  and  as 
I  intend  to  do.  I'll  do  it  by  reason,  if 
you'll  let  me,  and  I'll  say  nothing  of  any 
other  means,  lor  I  don't  want  to  use  them. 
I  speak  you  fair,  men,  and  I  mean  you  fair. 
What  do  you  say,  now,  to  treating  me  as 
I  treat  you  ?  " 

Acquiescent  murmurs  ran  round  the  crew, 
most  of  whom  had  gathered  together  dur- 
ing the  scene.  "  And  at  such  a  time 
as  this  too,"  continued  Captain  Liddle, 
"  though  it  would  be  all  the  same  in  fair 
weather  or  foul.  I'll  tell  you  something 
that  many  of  you,  as  good  mariners,  sus- 
pect already.     We  are  near  a  dangerous 


152 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


coast  —  how  near  I  do  not  know,  for  I  have 
not  been  able  to  take  a  sight  for  two  days. 
And  it's  at  such  a  time  as  this  that  this 
bad  sailor  —  I  found  out  before  we  got  into 
the  Bay  of  Biscay  that  he  wasn't  as  good 
as  he  ought  to  be  —  it's  at  such  a  time  as 
this  that  he  tries  to  get  you  into  trouble. 
Come,  now,  have  I  spoke  you  fair  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  have ;  spoke  like  a  man  !  "  a 
dozen  voices  said. 

"  That's  well  said.  Whoever  is  on  my 
side  step  over  to  me." 

Every  man  —  even  the  Lafecar,  too  much 
of  a  coward  to  stand  aloof — stepped  to 
the  captain's  side  and  saluted  him. 

"  I'm  proud  of  my  crew,"  was  the  cap- 
tain's simple  remark  after  this.  "  Now  go 
to  your  duty." 

As  the  captain  walked  on  to  the  poop, 
Rough-and-Ready  said, 

"  Tliat  was  well  done,  skipper  ;  but  there 
are  two  or  three  black  sheep  among  'em, 
for  all  that." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Captain  Liddle, 
with  a  significant  look.  "  I  shall  keep  a 
sharp  look-out  on  them.  I've  got  a  man 
on  board  that's  a  match  for  a  dozen  black 
sheep,  or  I'm  very  much  mistaken." 

Ilough-and-Ready  laughed  and  turned 
on  his  heel,  and  Captain  Liddle  went  down 
to  say  an  encouraging  word  to  his  wife. 

On  the  eighth  day  the  captain,  suspect- 
ting  that  they  were  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Minerva  Shoal,  near  which  there  were 
some  dangerous  rocks,  ordered  a  sharp 
lookout  to  be  kept  for  broken  water.  All 
the  passengers  were  by  this  time  in  a  state 
.  of  great  alarm,  and  although  Captain  Lid- 
dle tried  to  cheer  them  by  encouraging 
words,  his  anxious  face  belied  his  speech. 
Perhaps  the  one  who  suffered  the  most 
from  terror  was  Stephen  Homebush.  His 
teiTor  was  so  great  that  he  forgot  his  mis- 
sion, and  flew  to  others  for  consolation,  in- 
stead of  imparting  it.  Such  men  as  he 
are  most  true  to  their  calling  when  the 
weather  is  fine.  It  was  a  miserably  dark 
night.  The  captain,  completely  tired  out, 
had  gone  down  to  his  cabin  for  a  little  rest. 
All  the  passengers,  with  the  exception  of 
Rough-and-Ready,  who  never  seemed  to 
sleep,  and  yet  was  the  freshest  man  of  them 
all,  had  retired  to  their  beds  with  hearts 
filled  by  gloomy  forebodings  of  what  the 
morrow  might  bring ;  and  there  they  lay, 
tossing  about,  listening  to  the  raging  wind 
that  was  driving  them  perhaps  to  certain 
death.  In  the  captain's  cabin  were  Mrs. 
Liddle  and  her  maid.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  present  danger  that  was  to 
Minnie  almost  a  relief  from  the  horrible 
monotony  of  her  life.  Her  seh'-  imposed 
silence  had  become  unbearable,  and  she 
fretted    under  it  until  her  health  was  in 


danger  of  giving  way.  So  that  this  change, 
with  all  its  terrors  and  uncertainties,  was 
an  absolute  relief  to  her.  She  was  too  sad 
and  unhappy  to  be  frightened  at  the  pros- 
pect of  death.  Had  the  future  held  out 
to  her  any  hope  of  happiness,  she  would 
have  prayed  to  live ;  but  as  it  was  —  "  Bet- 
ter to  die,"  she  thought,  "  and  so  end  all." 
There  is  no  doubt  that  this  miserable  state 
of  her  mind  was  due  to  the  want  of  proper 
moral  training  in  her  childhood.  Thrown 
completely  upon  herself;  with  no  mother's 
love  to  teach  her  what  is  often  taught  by 
love's  instinct  alone,  that  such  and  such 
impulses  and  thoughts  are  weeds  that  de- 
stroy, and  such  and  such  are  flowers  that 
beautify :  doomed  to  the  almost  sole  com- 
panionship of  a  father  whose  misfortunes 
had  rendered  him  an  unfit  teachei',  it  is 
scarcely  to  be  wondered  at  that  she  should 
have  been  oblivious  of  the  true  duty  of  life. 

"  Bessie,"  said  Captain  Liddle  to  his 
wife,  "  I  have  come  down  for  an  hour's 
sleep.  I  can  rest  with  confidence,  for  Mar- 
vel is  keeping  the  watch." 

Mrs.  Liddle  nodded,  and  gave  him  a 
sweet  little  smile  that  was  like  wine  to  him ; 
and  Minnie  heard  him  say,  in  answer  to  a 
whisper  from  his  wife,  "  We  are  in  God's 
hands,  Bessie,  and  must  trust  to  His  mercy." 

"  We  are  in  God's  hands,  and  must  trust 
to  His  mercy,"  thought  Minnie  as  she  left 
the  cabin  ;  "  and  Joshua  is  keeping  the 
watch.  Death  may  be  very  near.  Will  it 
be  wrong  to  speak  to  him  ?  "  Mechanically 
she  made  her  way  to  the  deck,  stumbhng 
two  or  three  times  and  bruising  herself. 
But  she  felt  no  pain.  "  I  should  like  to  die 
near  him,"  she  thought ;  "  if  he  would  take 
my  hand  in  his,  I  should  be  content  and 
happy." 

Nothing  but  darkness  surrounded  her  on 
deck.  She  clung  to  a  rope,  appalled  by  the 
mournfulness  of  the  scene.  Not  a  star  was 
to  be  seen  in  the  heavens,  and  the  sky  and 
water  were  as  black  as  the  night.  So 
solemn,  so  mournful  was  every  thing  around, 
that  the  ship  seemed  to  be  rushing  into  a 
pit  of  death,  where  no  light  was.  She  could 
not  see  her  hand  before  her,  but  all  at  once 
her  heart  beat  wildly  at  the  sound  of 
Joshua's  voice.  He  was  speaking  to 
Rough-and-Ready,  and  they  were  quite 
near  her,  although  she  had  not  seen  them. 
Even  now  she  could  but  barely  discern 
their  forms  in  the  gloom.  Joshua  had  just 
made  a  remark  that  Rough-and-Ready 
must  have  been  a  great  traveller. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Rough  -  and  -  Ready, 
"  I've  been  about  a  pretty  great  deal.  I've 
led  a  Avild  life ;  but  then,  you  see,  I  never 
had  any  one  to  care  for  but  myself." 

"  Never  ?  "  questioned  Joshua,  in  a  tone 
that  had  a  dash  of  pity  in  it. 


THE  "WRECK  OF  THE  "MERRY  ANDREW." 


153 


"  Never  but  once,  and  that  was  only  for 
a  little  while.  But  what  matters  'i*  It  will 
be  all  one  by  and  by." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  tliiak  you  meant 
that,"  coutinuud  Joshua  ;  "  it  would  be  a 
sad  belief  that,  at  such  a  tiuie  as  this." 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  didn't  believe  it, 
at  all  events,"  said  llough-and-Ready,  in 
tones  as  soft  as  a  girl's ;  "  but  then  your 
cu'cumstances  are  diiferent  to  mine.  You 
are  young ;  I  am  "  — 

"  Not  old." 

"  Old  enough  for  twice  your  years.  Then 
you  have  friends  at  home,  mayhap  ?  " 

"  Ay,  dear  ones." 

"  Mother  and  father  ?  " 

"  Ay ;  God  bless  them  !  " 

"  Wife  perhaps  ?  " 

Joshua  gave  a  gasp  that  sounded  almost 
like  a  cry  of  pain. 

"  Ah,  well,"  continued  Rough-and-Ready, 
"  if  we  were  to  go  down  this  minute,  I 
don't  know  the  man  or  v/oman  who  would 
say  '  Poor  fellow ! '  Avhen  my  fate  was 
known.  I  leave  no  one  behind  me,  and  my 
death  would  bring  no  grief  to  a  single  soul. 
Perhaps  my  condition  is  the  happier  of  the 
two." 

"  Not  so,"  said  Joshua  sadly ;  "  and  I 
hope — indeed  I  believe  —  that  you  don't 
mean  what  you  say.  I  have  a  friend  at 
home  —  Dan,  his  name  —  to  whom  the  news 
of  my  death  would  be  the  bitterest  grief. 
I  have  dear  ones  at  home,  whose  lives 
would  be  lives  of  mourning  if  I  were  not  to 
leturn.  I  know  this,  and  feel  the  pain  that 
they  would  experience  should  it  be  God's 
will  that  we  are  not  to  escape  this  peril. 
But,  strange  as  it  may  sound,  1  would  not 
spare  them  the  pain  if  it  were  in  my  power. 
Could  I,  by  a  wish,  destroy  the  memories 
that  make  my  Ufe  dear  to  me  and  them  — 
dearer  than  you  imagine — and  so  pluck 
from  their  hearts  and  minds  the  sting  that 
my  death  would  bring  to  them,  I  would  not 
do  so.     For  after  death,  there  is  life  1  " 

"  You  believe  in  the  immortality  of  the 
soul,  mate  V  " 

"  Surely ;  and  you  ?  " 

Rough-and-Ready  made  no  reply. 

"  '  Tis  often  difficult  to  believe  in  what 
we  don't  understand.  On  such  a  night  as 
this  —  bleak,  dreary,  awfully  solemn  — 
with  death  waiting  for  us  within  a  few 
yards  perhaps  —  it  is  dithcult  to  believe 
that  there  are  spots  on  the  earth  where  the 
sun  is  shining  and  where  the  flowers  are 
blooming." 

"  That's  true,  mate ;  you  speak  more  like 
a  scholar  than  a  sailor.     Shake  hands." 

"  I  learned  a  gre;it  deal  from  the  friend 
of  whom  I  have  spoken,"  said  Joshua, 
grasping  Rough-and-Ready's  hand.  "  What 
is  that  ahead  of  us  ?  " 


A  dark  cloud.  Impossible  to  sec  whether 
it  belonged  to  earth,  or  air,  or  Avater.  A 
moment  atter  he  uttered  the  words,  the  man 
who  was  keeping  the  look-out  cried  that 
there  was  land  ahead.  Joshua  hastily  gave 
some  orders,  and  was  making  his  way  to 
the  saloon  to  arouse  the  captain,  when  he 
was  almost  thrown  oiY  his  legs  by  a  terrible 
shock.  Involuntarily  he  threw  his  arms 
around  Minnie,  who  was  clinging  to  the 
rope.  She  held  him  fast  for  a  moment,  and 
he  cried, — 

"  Who  is  this  ?  " 

"  It  is  me,"  she  said  ;  "  cling  to  me." 

"  Don't  stir,"  he  whispered  rapidly,  filled 
with  a  wild  amazement  at  the  familiar 
tones  of  Minnie's  voice ;  "  if  it  were  not 
that  I  know  I  am  not  dreaming,  I  could  be- 
lieve a  spirit  spoke,  and  not  a  woman.  But 
keep  you  here ;  do  not  move  for  your  life." 

The  next  instant  all  was  confusion,  and 
cries  and  lamentations  filled  the  air.  Cap- 
tain Liddle  was  on  deck  barefooted,  and  all 
the  passengers  were  there  in  their  night- 
dresses, clinging  to  ropes  and  spars,  praying 
and  crying  and  wringing  their  hands. 
Great  seas  washed  over  the  ship,  drowning 
the  cries  for  a  brief  time ;  the  night  was  so 
dark  that  their  true  sittiation  could  not  be 
discovered,  and  imagination  added  to  their 
terrors  and  magnified  them.  The  captain 
could  do  literally  nothing ;  for  the  ship  ap- 
peared to  have  been  hfted  on  to  the  rocks, 
and  kept  bumping  against  them  in  its  en- 
deavors to  get  free.  And  yet  there  was  sea 
all  around  them.  Some  of  the  passengers 
had  sought  shelter  under  the  lee  of  the 
cuddy,  among  them  the  captain's  wife,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Pigeon  and  Little  Emma,  and 
Steven  and  Rachel  Homebush.  Many 
times  during  the  night  Avas  the  voice  of 
Stephen  Homebush  heard,  calling  upon  the 
Lord  to  save  Jam;  while  his  sister  Rachel, 
braver  than  he,  stood  by  his  side,  with  a 
stern  set  face,  in  silence.  The  cheery  laugh 
of  Mrs.  Pigeon  was  stilled,  but  she  was  not 
so  overcome  by  terror  as  not  to  be  a  com- 
fort to  her  husband  and  child  ;  during  the 
dark  night  those  three  clung  together  and 
comforted  each  other  as  well  as  they  were 
able ;  while  the  captain,  making  his  way 
from  one  group  to  another,  bade  them  not 
lose  heart ;  for  the  ship  seemed  to  be  keep- 
ing together,  and  Avhen  da}light  came  their 
condition  might  be  found  to  be  less  desper- 
ate than  it  appeared. 

"  Besides,"  he  Avhispered  to  the  male 
passengers,  "  we  have  three  or  four  rascals 
among  the  sailors,  and  for  the  sake  of  the 
women  we  must  keep  ourselves  cool  and 
self-possessed." 

To  his  wile  he  said  simply,  — 

"  Well,  Bessie,  this  is  a  bad  job.  I  ought 
not  to  have  allowed  you  to  come  with  me." 


154 


JOSHUA  MAKVEL. 


"  I  would  sooner  be  liere  with  you,  Jolin," 
she  said,  kissing  him,  "  than  I  would  be  at 
home  in  safety." 

"  Brave  little  heart,"  he  wliispered  to  him- 
self as  he  walked  away  from  her.  "  Yet  I 
could  bear  it  better  if  I  were  alone." 

James  Heartsease  and  Harry  Wall  kept 
together,  as  friends  should,  all  through  the 
night.  They  felt  not  a  particle  of  fear ; 
they  thought  it  was  very  grand  and  very 
{iwful,  and  spoke  in  calm  tones  of  what  the 
morrow  might  bring. 

"  Don't  think  we  shall  see  China,  Jim," 
said  Harry. 

"  Perhaps  not.  Hope  no  body  will  be 
hurt "  was  the  reply.  "  What  a  grand  paint- 
ing this  would  make !  " 

A  few  minutes  after  Joshua  had  left  Min- 
nie, he  came  to  the  cuddy,  where  Mrs.  Lid- 
die  had  sought  protection. 

"  Mr.  Marvel,"  she  called  to  him,  "  have 
you  seen  my  maid  Y  " 

Then  it  came  upon  him  that  the  woman 
to  whom  he  had  clung  when  the  ship  struck 
was  the  gypsy-maid  who  had  kept  herself  so 
reserved,  and  he  said,  "  Yes  my  lady ;  do 
you  want  her  V  " 

All  the  officers  called  the  captain's  wife 
"my  lady,"  and  she  was  proud  of  the  title. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  wish  you  could 
bring  her  to  me,  poor  girl ;  she  is  iriendless 
and  unhappy,  poor  child  !  " 

"  Has  she  no  friends  at  home,  my  lady  ?  " 
Joshua  could  not  help  asking. 

"  None,  I  believe." 

The  word  "  home  "  reached  little  Emma 
Pigeon's  ears,  and  as  she  nestled  in  her 
mother's  arms,  the  child  cried,  "  Mother, 
are  we  going  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  deai',"  sobbed  Mrs.  Pigeon ; 
"  try  to  go  to  sleep,  there's  a  darling."  And 
she  rocked  the  child,  and  sang  a  Uttle  song 
about  birds  and  angels. 

Joshua,  steadying  himself  as  he  walked 
cautiously  to  where  Minnie  was  standing, 
wondered  to  himself  whether  it  was  fancy 
that  had  made  the  gypsy-maid's  voice  sound 
so  fiimiliar  to  him  ;  a  sea  washing  over  the 
deck,  drenched  him  to  the  skin,  and  as  he 
stood  upright  and  shook  the  water  from  his 
clothes,  the  memories  that  were  stirred  with- 
in him  brought  to  him  a  picture  of  the  dear 
old  kitchen  at  Stepney,  with  himself  half- 
naked,  barefooted,  and  with  the  water 
streaming  from  him,  standing  at  the  door. 
The  vision  may  have  occupied  but  a  mo- 
ment, but  the  picture  was  complete ;  father, 
mother,  Ellen,  Dan  and  the  birds,  the  Old 
Bailor,  all  were  there.  But  where  was  Min- 
nie? Why,  by  his  side,  with  short  curly 
hair  and  brown  gypsy-face.  "  Am  I  mad  '?  " 
he  exclaimed,  as  he  dashed  the  waters  from 
his  eyes.  But  when  he  reached  the  spot 
where  Minnie  stood,  and  she  clasped  his 


hand  and  said,  "  Thank  God,  you  are  safe  I  " 
his  amazement  grew. 

"  I  cannot  see  your  face,"  he  whispered, 
with  his  arm  round  her,  for  the  better  pro- 
tection of  both ;  "  but  your  voice  is  strange- 
ly familiar  to  me.     Do  I  know  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  do  not  press  me  farther. 
Wait  till  the  light  comes.  Shall  we  live 
till  then  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Will  you  promise  me  to  keep  near  me 
till  daylight  comes  ?  It  is  my  dearest  wish 
—  my  only  one." 

"  I  promise,"  he  said,  strangely  agitated, 
"  until  my  duty  calls  me  away." 

"  And  even  then,  you  will  come  back 
when  you  have  done  your  task,  and  stand 
by  my  side  ?  " 

"  I  will,  my  poor  girl.  I  have  come  now 
to  bring  you  to  the  captain's  lady." 

"  She  sent  you  lor  me  ?  " 

"  Y'es." 

"  She  is  a  good  lady.  But  wait  a  little ; 
I  have  something  to  say  first."  Many  mo- 
ments passed  before  she  spoke  again,  and  in 
the  pause  a  grateful  prayer  went  up  from  the 
girl's  heart  even  for  the  small  blessing  of 
gentle  sjjeech  from  her  hero's  lips.  "  You 
have  made  me  very,  very  happy.  Until  to- 
night —  for  many,  many  months  past  —  I 
have  been  most  unhappy."  She  bent  her 
lips  to  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  "  Now  an- 
swer me.     We  are  in  great  peril  ?  " 

"  The  gi-eatest,  I  fear." 

"  But  a  danger  threatens  you  of  which 
you  are  not  aware.  Listen.  The  second  mate, 
he  who  was  put  in  irons  the  other  day  "  — • 

"  Scadbolt  —  go  on." 

"  Is  loosed." 

"  By  whom  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  he  is  loosed,  and 
but  five  minutes  since  was  near  me  with  a 
sailor  whom  I  think  I  know,  although  I  could 
not  see  him.  Listen.  I  must  whisper,  for 
he  may  be  near  us  now.  They  were  talk- 
ing of  you,  and  they  swore  —  O  my  God  !  — 
they  swore  to  have  your  life." 

"  They  spoke  of  me  by  name  ?  " 

"  By  name  —  Joshua  Marvel." 

"  Y'^ou  think  you  know  the  sailor  who  was 
talking  to  Scadbolt.     Is  he  a  dark  man  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  a  Lascar  I  think." 

"You  are  right.  He  owes  me  an  old 
grudge." 

"  Scadbolt  said  that  this  coast  is  one  of  the 
most  dangerous  upon  which  a  ship  could 
strike.  He  believes  he  knows  pretty  well 
where  we  are,  and  that  it  will  be  a  fight  for 
the  boats  "  — 

"  We  have  only  two,  the  jolly-boat  and 
the  long-boat ;  he  may  be  right." 

"  Be  on  your  guard ;  tell  the  captain ;  be 
prepared." 

"  We  will ;   and  you  " — 


JOSHUA  IS  PROMOTED. 


155 


"  I  can  protect  myself.     Feel  this." 

"  A  knife  1 " 

"  I  picked  it  up.     Let  them  beware." 

Another  lurch  of  the  vci-sel  made  them 
cling  closer  to  each  other.  During  all  the 
hoiTor  of  the  scene,  Joshua  had  not  dared  to 
ask  whether  it  really  was  ]\linnie  to  whom 
he  was  speaking ;  he  feared  to  know  the 
truth.  jNlinnie  on  the  ship  with  him  !  and 
Ellen  at  home  —  and  Dan  —  he  dared  not 
think  of  it. 

'•  Come  he  said  ;  "  I  will  take  you  to  the 
captain's  lady.     Cling  fast  to  me." 

"  Sav  a  few  words  to  me." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  God  bless  and  forgive  you." 

"  God  bless  and  forgive  you  !  From  my 
heart." 

'•  He  will,  1  think,"  said  the  girl,  as  if  com- 
muning with  herself.  "  I  have  not  felt  so 
happy  for  a  long  time  past.  Death  has  no 
terror  for  me  if  you  are  kind  !  " 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

JOSHUA    IS    PROMOTED. 

When  daylight  came  —  and  oh,  how 
they  watched  for  it,  and  prayed  for  it !  — 
they  saw  clearly  their  great  peril.  The 
ship  was  rolling  amongst  a  mass  of  sharp 
rocks  jutting  upwards  from  the  sea.  They 
saw  tlie  points  of  these  rocks  on  all  sides 
of  them  ;  but  no  friendly  land  was  in  view. 

"  The  ship  is  lost,"  said  Captain  Liddle 
to  Joshua,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  his 
right-hand  ;  "  she  is  breaking  up  last.  Our 
next  cliance  is  the  boats." 

It  was  a  wonder  indeed  how  the  "Merry 
Andrew "  had  kept  together  during  the 
ni 'lit,  with  the  tremendous  beating  she  hatl 
received  from  the  rocks ;  if  she  had  been 
in  deeji  water,  she  must  inevitably  have 
sunk. 

Joshua  had  told  Captain  Liddle  of  the 
understanding  between  Scadbolt  and  the 
Lascar,  as  overhead  by  Minnie  ;  and  now  the 
cajjtain  walked  to  where  the  two  conspira- 
tors were  standing  in  conversation  with 
other  sailors.  Scadbolt  was  endeavoring 
to  persuade  them  to  sieze  the  jolly  boat, 
and  leave  the  passengers  to  shift  for  them- 
selves. 

"  What  is  that  you  are  saying  ?  "  cried 
the  captain  breaking  in  amongst  them,  and 
grasping  Scadbolt  by  the  shoulder  with  a 
grasp  of  iron.  "  More  incitings  to  mutiny  ! 
Take  heed,  sir  1  Give  me  but  a  little  strong- 
er cause  —  nay,  dare  to  lay  a  finger  upon 
boats  or  provisions  without  leave  —  and, 
by  God,  I'll  throw  you  into  the  sea  I  " 


"  Will  you  stand  this,  men  ?  "  shouted 
Scadbolt,  writhing  in  the  captain's  grasp. 

The  Lascar  made  a  movement  towards 
the  captain,  and  the  glitter  of  a  knife 
Hashed  in  the  light;  but  a  blow  from  Josh- 
ua sent  him  reeling,  and  in  an  instant 
the  knife  was  torn  from  his  hand. 

"  Remember !  "  said  Joshua  in  a  low 
voice.  "  You  had  a  lesson  from  me  years 
ago.  Wliat  the  captain  does  to  Scadbolt, 
I  do  to  you,  you  treacherous  cur." 

"  I  ren)ember,"  muttered  the  Lascar,  pre- 
senting the  singular  aspect  of  a  man  cowed 
by  fear  and  raging  with  furious  passion  at 
the  same  time,  "  I  swore  to  have  your 
heart's  blood,  and  I'll  have  it !  Look  you  ! 
the  end  has  not  yet  come.  Give  me  my 
knife." 

Joshua  looked  at  the  knife  ;  it  was  one- 
bladeil,  with  a  clasp  —  one  of  the  articles, 
indeed,  which  the  Lascar  had  wi-ested  from 
Solomon  Fewster's  tears. 

"  You  asked  me  once  before  for  a  knife 
I  took  from  you,"  he  said  ;  "  then  I  broke 
it  before  I  gave  it  back.  But  this  —  this 
I  mean  to  keep." 

"Now  then  my  men,"  cried  the  captain, 
in  a  cheery  voice,  "  this  is  the  second  time 
that  this  damned  rascal  has  tried  to  step 
between  you  and  me.  What  I  feared  then 
has  happened  now.  The  ship  is  breakln;^ 
up,  and  can't  hold  together  tor  many  days, 
and  if  the  weather  gets  worse,  may  break 
up  in  a  day.  There  are  certain  chances 
in  our  favor,  every  one  of  which  will  be 
destroyed  unless  we  act  in  friendly  concert 
and  like  men.  This  scoundrel  has  tried  to 
make  you  believe  that  your  interests  and 
the  interests  of  the  passengers  are  in  o]jpo- 
sition.  He  lies  1  I  declare  to  you,  as  a 
captain  and  a  man  "  (if  he  had  said  a  gen- 
tleman, all  would  have  been  ruined),  "  that 
your  lives  and  your  safety  are  as  dear  to 
me,  as  those  of  anybody  else  on  board  — 
excejit  my  wife,"  he  said  softly  yet  stout- 
ly, and  murmurs  of  "  Bravo,  skipper !  Bra- 
vo !  you're  a  man  1  "  broke  even  from  the 
lips  of  those  sailors  who  were  most  disposed 
to  be  won  over  by  Scadbolt.  "  AVell  then, 
you  hear  me  declare  now,  as  I  have  de- 
clared before,  that  I  mean  you  fair.  An  I 
I  declare  moreover,  that  our  only  chance 
of  safety  is  in  union.  Once  again  —  With 
me,  —  or  Against  me  ?  " 

"  With  you  !  with  you,  skipper  !  " 

During  this  scene,  Joshua  did  not  know 
that  Minnie  was  standing  near  him.  Now, 
releasing  the  Lascar  with  warning  words, 
he  turned  and  saw  her.  She  met  liis  gaze 
unflinchingly,  and  a  hot  blush  mantled 
over  her  neck  and  face.  He  gazed  at  her 
for  so  long  a  time,  that  she  drooped  her 
head  before  him,  and  stood  in  an  attitude 
of  pleading.     But  he  could  not  doubt  the 


156 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


evidence  of  his  senses.  Her  manner,  no 
less  than  her  appearance,  convinced  him. 
It  was  Minnie,  indeed,  who  stood  before 
him. 

He  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and 
stagiiered  to  the  saloon.  If  a  thousand 
despairing  and  undeserved  deaths  had 
stared  him  in  the  face,  he  could  not  have 
been  more  shocked  and  bewildered.  He 
sat  down  and  tried  to  think.  What  was 
the  meaning  of  it  ?  What  did  they  know  at 
home  ?  What  did  they  know  ?  What 
might  they  suspect  ?  He  saw  himself  and 
the  Old  Sailor  together  in  the  boat  at 
Gravesend,  and  heard  that  faithful  old 
friend  tell  hiin  of  Minnie's  love  for  him, 
and  what  it  was  his  duty  to  do.  He  had 
seen  his  duty  clearly  then  :  love  for  Ellen 
no  less  than  duty  —  affection  for  his  friend 
and  brother,  no  less  than  love  and  duty  — 
impelled  him  to  the  right  and  honorable 
course  of  making  Ellen  his  wife.  And 
then !  Why,  within  three  days  of  that 
consummation  of  his  dearest  hope,  he  and 
Minnie  were  together  on  board  the  "  Merry 
Andrew."  If  they  at  home  knew  it,  suspect- 
ed it  even,  must  they  not  believe  that  his 
whole  life  was  a  monstrous  lie  ?  that  he 
had  planned,  plotted,  deceived,  schemed, 
to  prove  how  utterly  false  he  was  to  the 
woman  who  adored  him,  to  the  man  who 
believed  in  him,  to  the  kind  mother  and 
father  who  loved  him  better  than  Benja- 
min was  loved  ?  For  a  few  moments  he 
lost  all  consciousness  of  present  peril.  The 
ship  beat  amongst  the  rocks ;  the  seas 
dashed  over  the  deck  :  he  heard  them  not, 
felt  them  not.  He  took  from  his  breast 
Ellen's  picture  and  the  lock  of  hair  she  had 
given  him  at  their  parting,  and  kissed  them 
again  and  again  while  his  tears  ran  on 
them.  Strangely  enough,  there  came  to 
his  ears  then,  in  the  midst  of  his  agony,  his 
father's  hearty  exultant  voice,  saying, 
"  This  is  better  than  being  a  wood-turner 
all  one's  life,  isn't  it,  Josh  ?  "  He  shivered 
and  sobbed  and  cried,  "  O  Dan,  Dan,  do 
not  forsake  me  !  "  and  sti'etched  forth  his 
hands  as  if  his  friend  were  near.  A  hand 
upon  his  shoulder  aroused  him,  He  looked 
up,  and  saw  the  captain's  wife.  She 
was  a  brave  woman,  and  had  done  much 
during  the  night  to  sustain  the  courage  of 
the  others. 

"  There  is  a  man's  work  to  do  on  deck," 
she  said  to  him  gravely  and  sweetly.  "  You 
are  not  growing  faint-hearted  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lady,"  he  answered,  "  not  fiiint- 
hearted  at  the  prospect  of  death ;  but  I 
have  received  a  shock  worse  than  death." 

She  did  not  stop  to  ask  for  an  explana- 
tion of  his  meaning  —  time  was  too  pre- 
cious ;  but  she  took  the  picture  of  Ellen 
and  looked  at  it. 


"  My  wife,  my  lady,"  he  said,  with  a 
sob. 

A  troubled  expression  crossed  her  fea- 
tures, and  she  said  encouragingly,  — 

"  Nay,  all  hope  is  not  gone ;  we  may 
succeed  in  I'eaching  land,  or  some  ship  may 
see  us  and  pick  us  up.  But  all  private 
grief  must  give  way  now  for  the  general 
good.  There  are  not  too  many  faithful 
men  on  board ;  the  lives  of  others  depend 
on  them.  If  they  lose  heart,  and  yield  to 
the  selfishness  of  their  grief,  we  are  lost." 

Joshua  jumped  to  his  feet  and  wiped  his 
tears. 

"  They  are  not  unmanly  tears,  my  lady," 
he  said  bravely ;  "  I  can  justify  them  to 
you  when  there  is  no  pressing  work  to  do. 
Thank  you  for  calling  me  to  my  duty." 

She  smiled  brightly  on  him  and  shook 
hands  with  him.  When  he  got  on  deck, 
the  captain  was  giving  orders  to  lower  the 
jolly-boat ;  but  as  the  boat  was  being  low- 
ered, the  broken  water  caught  her  and 
splintered  her  to  pieces.  The  sailors  and 
passengers  looked  with  dismay  at  the  frag- 
ments of  the  boat  drifting  away  and  dash- 
ing against  the  jagged  rocks.  "  What 
next  ?  "  they  all  thought. 

"  Try  the  longyboat,  men,"  cried  the 
captain.  And  in  accordance  with  his  in- 
structions, the  long  boat  —  the  only  one 
left  —  was  launched  over  the  vessel's  side  ; 
but  as  she  hung  in  the  tackle,  a  huge  wave 
dashed  up  and  filled  her.  It  was  imper- 
ative that  the  water  should  be  bailed  out  of 
her. 

"  Who  will  do  it  ?  "  asked  the  captain, 
loath  to  give  an  order  in  which  there  was 
almost  certain  death.  Joshua  was  about  to 
start  forward,  when  Minnie's  hand  upon  his 
arm  restrained  him.  Before  he  could  shake 
off  the  grasp,  the  first  mate,  crying,  "  I'm  a 
single  man ;  I've  no  wife  and  children 
waiting  for  me  at  home  !  "  jumped  into  the 
boat  up  to  his  waist  in  water,  and  began  to 
bail  it  out.  But  he  had  not  bailed  out  a 
dozen  gallons  when  the  stern-post  was 
jerked  out  of  the  boat,  which  was  left 
hanging  in  the  tackle.  The  shouts  of  the 
men  and  the  screams  of  the  women  apprised 
him  of  his  danger ;  and  as  he  looked  about 
to  see  how  he  could  remedy  the  disaster, 
the  fore-tackle  got  adrift,  and  the  boat  was 
battling  with  cruel  rocks  and  water.  The 
force  of  the  current  was  too  powerful  for 
her.  The  captain  threw  out  lines  to  the 
unfortunate  man,  but  he  could  not  catch 
them.  But  if  he  had,  he  would  have  been 
bruised  to  death  by  the  sharp  rocks.  The 
moment  before  he  went  down,  he  waved  a 
good-by  to  those  on  board.  A  long  silence 
followed.  The  women  looked  anxiously  at 
the  captain,  but  saw  no  hope  in  his  face. 
Then  with  a  gesture  to  all  to  follow  him, 


JOSHUA  IS  PROMOTED. 


157 


be  went  down  to  the  saloon,  and  there  read 
prayers,  and  commended  them  to  God.  lie 
was  not  what  is  understood  as  a  religious 
man  ;  but  knowing  the  danger  in  which 
they  stood,  he  conceived  this  to  be  a  duty. 
That  done,  he  said,  "  Men  and  passengers, 
we  have  one  chance  left,  and  only  one. 
Out  ot"  our  masts  and  spars  we  can  make  a 
raft  sufiiciently  large  to  hold  all  of"  us. 
Then  we  may  be  able  to  reach  some  friendly 
land.  To  stay  on  board  and  wait,  and  not 
work,  is  certain  death.  Even  as  it  is,  a  raft 
will  take  us  some  days  to  make,  and  the 
ship  may  break  to  pieces  before  it  is  done. 
But  we  must  trust  to  God  for  that.  What 
we've  got  to  do  is  to  work  like  men,  for  our 
own  sakes,  for  the  sake  of  the  women,  and 
for  the  sake  of  wives  and  children  at  home. 
Some  of  you  have  these,  I  know.  It  is  not 
for  me,  now  that  we  are  in  such  a  strait,  to 
say,  do  this,  or  do  tliat ;  although  under 
any  circumstances  I  sliall  insist  upon  dis- 
cipline and  order.  I  can't  make  you  work, 
and  tlierefore  I  submit  for  your  appi'oval  the 
plan  I  think  best  for  general  safety.  Have 
any  of  you  a  better  one  to  proj>ose  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  was  tlie  unanimous  cry. 

"  Very  well ;  then  we'll  determine  upon 
this.  And  for  the  better  carrying  out  of 
our  design,  I  appoint  Mr.  Marvel  second  in 
command.  He  is  first  mate  now.  If  any 
thing  happens  to  me,  you  will  look  to  him. 
When  the  rafl  is  made,  and  safely  launched 
—  if  it  please  God  that  it  shall  be  so  —  we 
will  set  down  necessary  rules  for  all  on 
board.  Until  that  time  there  is  but  one 
rule  —  to  work.  Every  man  on  board  must 
work  —  passengers  and  all ;  and  every  man 
must  aid  me  in  preserving  order." 

The  caj^tain's  manly  speech  infused  hope 
into  every  heart ;  and  exclamations  of 
"  Good  !  "  "  Bravo  skipper  !  "  "  Well  said, 
sir  !  "  followed  his  last  words. 

"  One  other  thing,"  he  said,  in  a  more 
determined  voice  :  "  to  my  certain  knowl- 
edge, we  have  unfortunately  among  us  two 
men  who  have  endeavored  to  spread  dis- 
satisfaction and  add  to  our  confusion.  I 
will  not  point  out  these  men ;  they  are 
known  to  me  and  all  of  you.  They  are 
men,  though,  as  we  are,  so  far  as  the  value 
of  life  to  each  of  us  goes  ;  and  it  is  only  fair 
that  they  should  have  equal  chances  with 
us.  But  this  I  declare,  by  my  dear  wife's 
life  !  If  these  men  do  not  work,  and  if 
they  attempt  any  thing  that  is  not  for  the 
general  good,  I  will  shoot  them  with  my 
own  hand  1     ISi'ow  then,  to  the  deck  !  " 

Not  a  man  among  them  who  did  not  take 
off  his  coat  and  set  to  work  with  a  will. 
There  were  a  great  many  loose  spars  on 
board,  which,  with  the  mizenmast,  Avere 
found  to  be  sufficient  for  their  purpose. 
They  tried  to  cut  down  the  mainmast ;  but 


there  was  so  much  danger  in  the  attempt 
that  it  was  relin(niished.  For  three  days 
they  worked  like  slaves.  The  rocks  served 
as  a  resting-place  for  the  ends  of  the  largest 
spars,  which  were  firmly  lashed  together 
and  nailed  ;  the  light  and  short  spars  were 
used  for  the  centre  of  the  raft,  upon  which 
a  kind  of  platform  was  raised  on  Avhich 
many  of  the  shipwrecked  persons  could  lie 
out  of  the  water  ;  a  mast  to  carry  sails  was 
also  rigged  up.  The  raft  was  not  finished 
too  soon ;  they  could  not  have  stopped 
another  day  on  the  ship.  While  the  work 
was  going  on,  three  of  the  sailors  lost  their 
lives,  so  that  already  their  number  was 
lessened  by  four.  The  raft  being  ready,  it 
was  launched  with  great  difficulty.  The 
next  anxious  question  was  provisions  ;  and 
the  result  of  their  inquiry  blanched  many  a 
cheek.  All  the  bread  was  spoiled  by  the 
salt  water,  and  most  of  the  preserved  meat 
had  been  lost,  in  consequence  of  having 
been  brought  on  deck  when  they  tried  to 
launch  the  boats.  They  also  made  another 
disheartening  discovery.  They  could  only 
find  two  small  kegs  to  hold  water.  Still, 
when  the  first  shock  of  these  discoveries 
was  over,  they  were  borne  bravely,  almost 
cheerfully.  The  women,  excepting  Rachel 
Homebush,  were  the  cause  of  this  ;  they 
smiled  upon  the  workers,  encouraged  them, 
and  made  them  hojjeful  in  spite  of  them- 
selves. Even  Mrs.  Pigeon  recovered  some 
of  her  good  spirits  ;  and  knowing  that  her 
merry  laugh  was  a  comfort  to  the  men,  she 
laughed  often  when  she  was  not  inclined 
for  mirth.  The  little  child,  Emma,  was  the 
only  truly  happy  one  of  the  party,  and  her 
presence  drove  away  many  a  hard  thought. 
Rough-and-Ready  had  his  anxious  intervals, 
but  he  worked  with  a  will.  Between  him 
and  Joshua  a  strong  attachment  sprung  up  ; 
each  admired  the  manliness  of  the  other. 
He  was  also  particularly  kind  to  Minnie, 
and  she  grew  accustomed  to  look  upon  him 
with  confidence,  and  to  trust  in  him.  The 
night  before  the  raft  was  launched,  Joshua 
persuaded  Captain  Liddle  to  take  a  night's 
rest. 

"  It  will  be  all  the  better  for  you  and  all 
of  us,  sir,"  said  Joshua. 

"  But  you  too,  Marvel,"  said  Captain 
Liddle,  "  you  want  rest  as  much  as  I.  I 
don't  believe  you  have  had  two  hours'  sleep 
since  we  struck."  This  was  really  true  • 
both  Joshua  and  the  captain  had  been  in 
defatigable. 

"  Never  mind  me,  sir,"  said  Joshua,  witl; 
a  sad  sweet  smile.  "  You  have  your  wife 
to  attend  to.  Besides,  I  promise  that  I  will 
rest  to-morrow  night,  if  you  will  give  me 
leave." 

"  You  are  a  noble  fellow.  Marvel  ;  "  and 
Captain  Liddle   gazed  admiringly  at  the 


158 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


young  sailor.  "  I  have  often  wondered  how 
you  acquired  certain  qualities  that  are  not 
common  to  the  ordinary  sailor." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ;  I  doubt  if  they  were 
ever  in  me.  They  must  have  been  put 
there  by  my  friend  Dan,  who  is  nobleness 
itself." 

"  Dan  ?  Ah  !  the  lame  boy  with  the  won- 
derful birds;  that  I  saw  at  your  house.  I 
liked  his  face." 

"  He  is  the  dearest  fellow  "  —  Joshua 
turned  away  his  liead. 

The  next  day  the  provisions  and  the 
charts  and  instruments,  and  many  thin"-s 
that  would  be  useful,  such  as  blankets,  tools, 
and  writing  materials,  were  stowed  safely 
on  the  raft.  Of  the  provisions  there  was  a 
very  small  store  :  twenty  tins  of  preserved 
meat,  a  small  quantity  of  sugar,  about  a 
gallon  of  rum,  and  two  kegs  of  water.  By 
the  time  every  thing  useful  was  stowed 
away  and  secured,  and  the  passengers  were 
safely  on  the  raft,  it  was  evening,  and  within 
three  hours  the  "  Merry  Andrew  "  broke  com- 
pletely up.  The  raft,  having  parted  its 
moorings,  forced  by  the  strong  current,  was 
carried  to  sea,  and  the  passengers  watched 
the  last  of  the  ship  with  unmixed  fcelincrs 
of  sadness.  The  women  shed  tears,  and  all 
of  them,  men  and  women,  felt  as  if  they 
had  lost  a  friend.  When  the  vessel  was 
out  of  sight  a  stronger  feeling  of  desolation 
stole  upon  the  unhappy  group,  and  Rough- 
and- Ready  had  many  looks  of  astonishment 
cast  upon  him  as  he  rubbed  liis  hands  and 
said  in  a  cheerful  voice,  "  This  is  splendid. 
Now  we  can  be  comfortable."  But  it  was 
well  for  them  that  they  had  some  stout 
hearts  on  board. 

The  direct  allusion  made  by  Captain 
Liddle  to  Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar  had  had 
its  effect  upon  those  worthies  ;  they  knew 
that  their  lives  depended  upon  their  conduct. 
But  they  found  means  to  exchange  confi- 
dences, and  they  resolved  to  revenge  them- 
selves on  both  Joshua  and  the  captain 
when  opportunity  served.  "Wait  till  we 
make  land,"  said  Scadbolt ;  "  they  shall 
smart  then  the  pair  of  them.  Ill  teach 
both  of  them  the  meaning  of  '  general 
good  !  '  "  The  Lascar's  old  feeling  of  hate 
for  Joshua  had  been  revived  in  all  its  inten- 
sity by  the  late  scene  between  them. 

"  I'll  have  my  knife  back,"  he  muttered 
to  himself  as  he  lay  on  the  raft  the  first 
night,  at  a  little  distance  from  Joshua, 
watching  him  with  venomous  looks,  "  and 
his  heart's  blood  with  it." 

Not  a  movement,  not  a  glance,  escaped 
Minnie's  notice.  Aware  of  the  feelings  of 
hate  entertained  by  the  Lascar  for  Joshua, 
she  set  herself  the  task  of  watching  over 
Joshua's  safety.  He,  overpowered  by  fa- 
tigue, had  been  persuaded  by  the  captain 


to  take  some  sleep,  and  when  he  lay  down 
Minnie  crept  to  his  side  and  remained 
there  during  the  night.  He  slept  long  and 
peacefully  through  the  solemn  night  and 
after  the  gray  morning  had  dawned,  dream- 
ing of  home,  of  Dan  and  Ellen,  and  mur- 
muring their  names  with  a  smile  upon  his 
lips. 


CHAPTER    XXXL 

ox    THE   RAFT. 

Joshua,  opening  his  eyes,  saw  Minnie 
sitting  by  his  side.  She,  seeing  that  he 
was  awake,  moved  quietly  away  wifhout  a 
word,  and  went  to  where  the  other  women 
were  lying.  He  had  been  so  fatigued  when 
he  lay  down  to  rest,  that  his  sleep  had 
been  very  profound ;  and  when  he  awoke, 
the  full  sense  of  his  situation  did  not  come 
upon  him.  Minnie,  sitting  by  his  side  with 
her  brown  face  and  short  curls,  was  the 
first  thing  he  saw  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him 
for  a  brief  space  that  he  was  dreaming. 
But  when  she  moved  away  and  joined  the 
other  women,  he  remembered  the  perils 
they  had  encountered,  and  the  terrible  po- 
sition in  which  they  were  placed.  He 
would  have  called  to  her,  but  that  some 
feeling  restrained  him  ;  and  although  he 
thought  much  of  her  during  the  day,  he 
was  glad  that  he  had  not  spoken  to  her. 
Besides,  his  attention  was  diverted  for  a 
time  to  another  circumstance.  Some  of  the 
men  were  clamoring  for  breakfast.  Neither 
Scadbolt  nor  the  Lascar  was  among  the 
murmurers ;  these  last  consisted  of  the 
weakest  of  the  party,  who  were  less  able 
than  the  others  to  bear  hunger,  and  to  whom 
the  fear  of  starvation  made  it  appear  as  if 
they  had  been  already  fasting  a  day. 

"  Breakfast !  breakfast !  "  they  cried. 

"  Wait  till  ten  o'clock,"  said  the  captain, 
in  a  stern  determined  voice  ;  "  you  can't  be 
hungry  already.  If  you  don't  cease  mur- 
muring, I  will  put  off  breakfast  until 
twelve." 

This  threat  silenced  them. 

In  the  mean  time  the  captain  called 
his  council  together,  and  consulted  with 
them.  There  were  four  in  the  council : 
himself,  Joshua,  Rough-and-Ready,  and  an 
old  sailor  named  Standish,  who  had  been 
wrecked  twice  before,  and  who  consequently 
was  looked  upon  as  a  distinguished  person- 
age. At  eight  o'clock  the  captain  read 
prayers.  Then  the  men,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  council,  sat  idly  watching  the 
water,  and  looking  out  for  a  fish.  The 
morning  was  fine  ;  one  of  the  sailors  noted 


ON  THE  RAFT. 


159 


for  quaint  sayincTS  remarked  that  tlie 
weather  had  no  business  to  be  fine;  it  was 
a  niockerv.  At  ten  o'clock  the  captain 
piped  all  hands;  the  call  was  answered 
readily,  but  there  were  no  signs  of  break- 
fast. 

"  Be  seated,"  said  the  captain. 

They  all  sat  down,  with  the  exception 
of  the  captain  and  his  three  counsellors. 
The  captain  stood  in  front,  his  supjwrters 
behind. 

"  We  who  stand,"  said  the  captain, 
"  have  been  constituted  by  me,  commander 
of  this  ship,  into  a  council  for  the  discussion 
and  deliberation  of  all  matters  relating 
to  the  general  welfare.  The  fairness  of  the 
selection  will  recommend  itself  to  the  crew, 
for  the  council  is  composed  of  three  sailors 
and  one  passenger.     Are  you  content  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  a  large  number. 

Up  rose  Scadbolt. 

"  Let  us  hear  first  what  you  have  to  say 
about  the  provisions,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not 
one  who  says  yes  without  consideration." 

"  That's  fair  too,"  broke  from  half  a 
dozen  throats. 

Captain  Liddle  eyed  Scadbolt  steadily. 
Scadbolt  returned  his  gaze.  He  knew  that 
in  the  position  he  had  assumed,  he  could 
command  the  sympathies  of  a  certain  num- 
ber, and  the  knowledge  gave  him  confi- 
dence. 

"  Well,  it  is  fair,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  and 
a  reasonable  suggestion  is  always  reasona- 
ble, never  mind  who  makes  it.  The  council 
have  drawn  out  a  set  of  rules  this  morning, 
w-hich  I  have  here  writ  down  on  paper.  If 
you  approve  of  them,  you  will  approve 
of  the  council ;  do  I  understand  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  1  " 

The  captain  produced  his  paper  and 
commenced. 

"Rule  1.  All  questions  in  dispute,  with 
the  exception  of  such  as  are  properly 
within  the  province  of  the  duties  of  Cap- 
tain Liddle  — ^  whose  orders  as  Captain  of 
the  '  Merry  Andrew,'  we  promise  to  obey 
and  uphold  to  the  death  —  shall  be  decided 
by  the  majority." 

"  Agreed  !  "  some  cried. 

"  Stop  !  "  exclaimed  Scadbolt ;  "  how 
about  the  women  ?  We  are  not  going  to 
let  them  vote. 

Thought  Captain  Liddle,  "This  is  no 
common  scoundrel ;  he  puts  in  speech  what 
many  a  nitilcontent  would  only  dare  to 
think."  Said  Captain  Liddle  aloud,  "  That 
was  not  mentioned  by  the  council.  I  don't 
suppose  the  women  would  wish  to  vote ;  a 
proper  man  would  not  have  mentioned  it. 
Decided,  however,  that  the  women  do  not 
vote." 

In  arguing  with  Scadbolt,  Captain  Lid- 
dle  committed   a   grave    mistake ;    it   put 


them  upon  a  kind  of  equality,  and  from 
that  moment  Scadbolt  could  boast  of  being 
the  leader  of  a  party,  small  as  it  might  b«. 

"  Rule  2,"  continued  Captain  Liddle. 
"  The  small  stock  of  provisions  shall  be 
equally  divided  between  every  soul  on 
board  " — 

A  little  faint  cheering  here  broke  out. 

"  But,  in  consequence  of  the  small- 
ness  of  the  supply,  the  cpiantity  to  be  meas- 
ured out  to  eat'h  pers<jn  shall  be  regulated, 
as  occasion  demands,  by  the  Captain  and 
his  council." 

No  demur  was  made  to  this. 

"  Rule  3.  That  all  fish,  birds,  or  food  of 
any  kind  which  may  be  found  in  air  or 
water  shall  be  added  to  the  general  stock, 
and  shall  be  fairly  and  equally  divided." 

"  Unfair  !  "  exclaimed  Scadbolt ;  "  each 
man  is  entitled  to  what  he  can  catch  in  air 
or  water." 

"  Not  so,"  replied  the  captain ;  "  for 
what  then  would  become  of  the  women  ?  — 
Men,  I  appeal  to  you  :  does  this  man,  who 
speaks  while  you  are  silent,  represent  your 
views  ?  " 

Two  or  three  voices  answered,  "  Yes  ;  " 
a  score  answered,  "  No." 

"  Good,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  he  represents 
but  one  in  a  dozen  ;  and  even  the  two  or 
three  of  you  who  seem  to  side  with  him  may 
be  brought  to  see  the  selfishness  of  what  he 
advocates.  If  he  had  his  way,  the  weak 
would  be  left  to  die ;  the  strong  alone 
should  live,  and  have  a  chance  of  being 
saved.  Is  this  fair  ?  is  it  manly  ?  is  it  hon- 
est ?  " 

"  Every  man  for  himself,  and  God  for  us 
all,"  muttered  Scadbolt  trying  to  fan  the 
flame. 

"  Then  the  strongest  man  would  crush 
the  rest,  and  might  would  take  the  place 
of  right,"  continued  the  captain,  begin- 
ning to  see  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in 
listening  so  patieiitly  to  Scadbolt.  "  We 
were  never  nearer  to  death  than  we  are 
this  day ;  but  shall  that  make  us  forget 
that  we  are  men  ?  Shall  that  turn  us  into 
brutes  ?  We  have  helpless  women  depend- 
ing upon  us,  and  upon  our  manliness.  Tliey 
shall  be  shown  no  fi\vor  in  the  way  of  pro- 
visions ;  they  shall  divide  equally  with  us, 
share  and  share  alike.  But,  by  God,  the 
one  who  seeks  to  deny  them  their  fair 
chance  of  life,  dies  by  my  hand  !  " 

"  I  am  with  you,  captain,"  cried  Rough- 
and-Ready. 

"  And  I,"  said  Joshua. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  sailor  wdio  had  been 
twice  wrecked. 

"  And  I,"  "  And  I,"  from  most  of  the 
rest. 

"  Decided,  then,  that  all  food  that  may 
be  found  in  air  or  water  shall  be  added  to 


160 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


the  general  stock,  and  shall  be  fairly  and 
equally  divided." 

Scadbolt  did  not  dare  demur. 

"  Rule  4.  That,  recognizing;  the  full  ex- 
tent of  our  dread  peril,  and  knowing  that 
death  stares  us  in  the  face,  we  resolve  to 
die  like  men,  if  it  be  God's  will ;  and  thus 
resolving,  we  solemnly  declare  that,  sup- 
posing all  our  food  to  be  gone,  we  will  not 
eat  human  flesh  " — 

A  shudder  ran  round  the  attentive  group, 
and  Mrs.  Pigeon  fainted  ;  but  Captain  Lid- 
die  proceeded  firmly, — 

"  Nor  draw  lots  as  to  who  shall  be 
killed  to  feed  the  rest.  This  we  solemnly 
resolve,  in  fear  of  the  Lord,  out  of  common 
humanity,  and  out  of  respect  for  ourselves 
as  Christian  men." 

Assented  to  in  silence  ;  not  one  of  them 
could  realize  the  horrible  craving,  born  of 
raging  thirst  and  hunger,  that  had  come 
upon  men  in  such  a  strait  as  theirs. 

"  That  is  all,"  concluded  the  captain 
after  a  long  pause.  "  You  approve,  then, 
of  the  council  and  these  rules  V  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Now  to  breakfast.  Water,  for  the  first 
week,  will  be  served  out  twice  a  day  — a 
quarter  of  a  pint  in  the  morning,  and  a 
quarter  of  a  pint  in  the  evening  —  half  a 
pint  a  day  to  each  person.  Of  food  we 
have  only  preserved  meat  and  sugar,  and 
very  little  of  either.  One  table-spoonful 
of  preserved  meat  will  be  served  out  to 
each  person  at  eleven  o'clock  every  morn- 
ing, and  at  five  o'clock  one  ounce  of  sugar. 
Of  rum  we  have  about  a  gallon  :  a  tea- 
spoonful  will  be  served  out  to  each  person 
once  in  every  other  day,  in  the  morning  or 
in  the  evening,  as  he  may  choose.  The 
general  stock  of  provisions  will  not  be 
touched  by  any  one  on  board,  except  in 
presence  of  all,  and  it  will  be  guarded  by 
two  of  the  council ;  the  penalty  of  tamper- 
ing with  the  stock,  or  of  attempting  to 
steal  any  portion  of  it,  will  be  death.  And 
God  give  us  strength,  and  send  us  happy 
deliverance  ! " 

When  breakfast  was  served,  the  men  lay 
about  the  raft  idly,  watching  the  water  for 
fish,  which  they  were  not  successful  in 
catching,  and  rising  every  now  and  then  to 
scan  the  horizon  for  a  sail.  Some  slept  or 
tried  to  sleep ;  some  talked  over  the 
chances  of  deliverance ;  some  spoke  in 
whispers  of  what  they  had  heard  from  men 
who  had  been  wrecked.  While  tlie  pro- 
visions were  being  measured  by  the  cap- 
tain, the  other  three  of  the  covmcil  stood 
by  with  cocked  pistols,  ready  to  fire 
should  a  rush  be  made.  IMost  of  the  men 
took  their  spoonful  of  preserved  meat,  and 
ate  it  quickly  and  greedily,  some  of  them 
at  one  gulp  ;  but  a  few,  wiser  than  their 


fellows,  retire<l  with  their  portion,  and  sit- 
ting down,  ate  it  very  slowly.  These  last 
were  the  best  satisfied.  The  council  were 
busy  enough  all  the  day  ;  assisted  by  Mr. 
Pigeon  and  the  two  friends,  AVall  and 
Heartsease,  they  were  employed  in  re-ar- 
ranging every  thing  on  the  raft,  and  in 
making  things  more  comfortable  for  the 
women.  A  kind  of  low  tent  was  built, 
under  cover  of  which  the  women  could  lie 
down  and  rest,  sci'eened  from  the  men  ;  but 
it  was  only  used  at  night ;  for  at  first  the 
women  mixed  with  the  men  during  the  day, 
and  made  themselves  useful.  Mrs.  Pigeon, 
of  her  own  accord,  crept  to  where  the  sail- 
ors were  lying  about,  and  asked  if  they 
wanted  any  thing  mended.  At  first  they 
were  too  surprised  to  reply ;  but  presently 
a  dozen  voices  answered  her.  One  wanted 
a  pair  of  socks  darned ;  another  had  half 
a  dozen  rents  in  his  shirt ;  and  in  a  very 
little  while  Mrs.  Pigeon's  hands  were  full. 
She  made  her  way  back  to  her  female  com- 
panions, and  throwing  a  heap  of  clothes  in 
the  midst  of  them,  pi'oposed  that  they 
should  set  to  work  at  once.  Soon  all  of 
them,  with  the  exception  of  Rachel  Home- 
bush,  were  busily  and  cheerfully  at  work  ; 
and  while  their  fingers  were  plying,  Mrs. 
Pigeon  sang  snatches  of  songs.  It  was  as 
little  hke  a  picture  of  shipwrecked  persons 
as  one  could  imagine.  But  it  was  a  pic- 
ture that  did  an  immense  amount  of  good. 
The  men  looked  at  the  women  admiringly, 
and  Rough-and-Ready's  eyes  glistened 
every  time  they  wandered  that  way. 

"  A  pretty  bunch  ! "  he  observed  to 
Joshua. 

Joshua  nodded  hopefully,  for  the  sight 
cheered  him. 

"  That's  a  good  little  woman  of  yours," 
said  Rough-and-Ready,  turning  to  Mr. 
Pigeon.  Rough-and-Ready  held  a  very 
diflerent  position  now  from  what  he  did 
when  he  first  stepped  aboard  the  "  Merry 
Andrew  ;  "  he  was  a  general  favorite  with 
men  and  women.  Even  Rachel  Homebush 
cast  glances  of  approval  at  him. 

"I  tell  you  what,"  answered  Mr.  Pigeon 
in  a  confidential  tone  ;  "  I've  not  seen  much 
of  women  —  you  know  out  there  in  the 
bush  they're  rather  scarce  —  and  we  had 
some  hope  of  getting  home  "  — 

'^^ Had  some  hope!"  interrupted  Rough- 
and-Ready.  "  Say  Jiaiw  some  hope.  Lf 
there's  one  thing  in  the  world  that  makes 
me  certain  of  it,  it  is  that  picture  there," 
pointing  to  the  women. 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear  you  say  so. 
Have  some  hope,  then,  of  getting  home, 
where  the  streets  are  crowded  with  women 
they  say.  But  there  isn't  one  among  'em 
to  come  up  to  her.  Although  there  were 
not    half  a  dozen    lasses  to  choose  from 


ON   THE   RAFT. 


161 


when  I  first  made  up  to  her,  I'd  choose  her 
now  out  of  a  million." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  these,  his 
articles  of  faitli  in  his  wife,  he  sat  down  by 
her  side,  and  held  her  cotton  for  her  as  she 
stitched  and  sewed. 

Meantime  the  current  and  their  one  sail 
carried  them  along  at  the  rate  of  about 
two  miles  an  hour.  No  land  was  in  sight, 
and  there  was  no  sign  of  a  ship,  although 
during  the  day  many  a  false  alarm  was 
given.  The  weather  remained  fine.  The 
light  wind  died  away  in  the  evening,  when 
the  thin  crescent  of  a  new  moon  came  out 
in  the  sky.  It  was  welcomed  as  a  good 
omen ;  and  the  women  looked  at  it,  and 
smiled  at  one  another,  the  foolish  things  I 
as  if  the  silver  crescent  were  a  messenger 
of  good  tidings.  Then  the  stars  came  out 
brightly  —  another  good  omen.  Many  a 
one  on  the  raft  thought,  "  This  is  better 
than  being  jammed  on  the  rocks  in  the 
'  Merry  Andrew  ; '  we  are  moving  towards 
safety.  If  we  do  not  see  a  ship,  we  may 
see  land,  and  may  manage  to  get  ashore." 
References  were  made  to  Robinson  Crusoe 
and  the  Swiss  Family  Robinson ;  not  in  a 
gloomy,  but  in  a  cheerful  spirit.  It  was 
the  admirable  bearing  of  the  men  in  com- 
mand, no  less  than  the  virtues  of  the 
women,  that  contributed  to  this  state  of 
hopeful  feeling.  The  sailors  were  also 
comparatively  contented ;  most  of  them 
had  a  little  stock  of  tobacco  —  some  more, 
some  less  —  the  chewing  of  which  gave 
them  comfort.  Each  man  hoarded  his 
store  more  jealously  than  a  miser  hoards 
his  gold ;  but  some  were  greedier  than 
others,  or  craved  for  it  more,  and  could  not 
withstand  the  temptation  of  chewing  it 
almost  wastefully,  certainly  not  prudently. 
But  then  sailors  are  not  a  prudent  class  of 
men. 

To  Joshua,  who  was  sitting  musing  of 
home,  came  Rough-and-Ready,  and  sat 
beside  him. 

"  You  don't  smoke  ?  "  asked  Rough-and- 
Ready. 

"  No." 

"  That's  not  sailor-like." 

Joshua  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
smiled. 

'•  Nor  chew?  " 

«  No." 

"  Here  is  a  little  piece  of  tobacco. 
Chew  it." 

Joshua  put  it  in  his  mouth  and  chewed 
it,  because  he  thought  it  was,  after  all  a 
certain  kind  of  food,  and  might  make  him 
less  hungry.     But  it  made  him  sick. 

Rough-and-Ready  laughed  a  little  when 
he  saw  the  efliect  of  it,  and  presently  said, 
so  that  no  one  else  should  hear,  "  You 
must  learn  to  chew." 

U 


"  Wliy  ?  " 

"  It  will  help  to  keep  you  alive  when  the 
provisions  run  out.  I  have  a  dozen 
pounds  of  tobacco  strapped  round  me ;  it 
was  my  own,  so  I  thought  I  had  a  right  to 
it.  By  and  by  it  will  come  in  handy.  I 
wish  I  could  teach  the  women  to  chew." 

"  If  the  men  knew  you  had  so  much," 
said  Joshua,  "  your  life  would  not  be  safe." 

"  I  know  that.  I  had  an  idea  at  first  ot 
handing  it  to  the  skipper  for  general  use ; 
but  I  thought  better  of  it.  There  are  a 
few  on  board  to  whom  I  don't  think  I'd 
give  an  ounce  to  save  their  lives.  What 
is  that  in  your  handkerchief  ?  " 

"  My  accordion." 

"  Do  you  play  ?  Of  course,  though,  or 
you  wouldn't  have  it.  I  should  like  to 
hear  some  music." 

Joshua  untied  his  handkerchief  and 
took  out  his  accordion.  The  night  was 
very  still,  and  the  soft  tones  floated  in  the 
air,  and  seemed  to  linger  about  the  raft  as 
it  glided  through  the  sea.  The  quiet  bub- 
bling of  the  water  as  it  stole  through  the 
openings  between  the  spars,  as  if  in  sport, 
was  in  consonance  with  the  melody  and  the 
still  night  and  the  beautiful  peaceful 
heavens.  Men  who  were  lying  at  full 
length  sat  up  when  the  music  commenced, 
and  were  the  better  for  it.  The  women 
crept  from  out  their  shelter,  and  listened 
and  shed  tears,  not  entirely  unhappy. 
Surely  it  was  a  night  of  good  omens.  As 
Joshua  played,  his  thoughts  wandered 
back  to  his  boyish  life,  and  to  the  tender 
conversations  that  had  taken  place  be- 
tween him  and  Dan.  Often  he  stopped  as 
he  mused  and  thought ;  but  presently  his 
fingers  would  be  on  the  keys  again,  play- 
ing a  few  bars  of  "  Poor  Tom  Bowling," 
and  other  more  cheerful  songs  of  Dibdin, 
which  the  Old  Sailor  loved  so  well.  They 
came  back  to  him,  the  memories  of  that 
happy  time.  Their  anxiety  about  their 
birds,  when  they  first  commenced  to  train 
them  ;  the  death  of  Golden  Cloud,  and  the 
after  conversation  which  he  had  never  for- 
gotten, in  the  course  of  which  they  had 
read  together  of  the  wreck  of  Robinson 
Crusoe.  Why,  it  seemed  all  to  have  come 
true !  Here  he  was,  wrecked,  certainly 
not  alone,  and  therefore  better  oiF  than 
Crusoe  was,  but  wrecked  for  all  that.  But 
under  what  circumstances,  and  with  what 
a  dreadful  web  of  suspicion  surrounding 
him  !  Oh,  if  he  could  see  the  end  of  it ! 
It  was  horrible  to  think  that  he  might  die 
—  he  and  all  of  them  on  the  raft ;  and 
that  Dan  might  believe  him  false  because 
of  Minnie.  It  would  not  bear  thinking  of. 
He  ceased  playing,  and  bathed  his  fevered 
head  and  face.  Often  and  often  had;  he 
said   to    himself,   in    former    storms    and 


162 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


former  scenes,  the  words  that  Dan  had 
impressed  upon  him ;  and  now  he  tried  to 
fancy  that  Dan  could  see  him,  and  knew 
that  he  was  true. 

Rough-and-Ready,  seeing  that  Joshua 
was  engrossed  in  thought,  did  not  disturb 
him,  and  presently  dozed  ofi'.  How  long 
he  had  been  asleep  he  did  not  know ;  but 
he  woke  up  with  a  curious  impression  upon 
him.  He  must  have  slept  long,  for  the 
night  was  far  advanced,  and  no  sound  was 
heard  but  the  plashing  of  the  water 
against  and  through  the  spars.  The  im- 
pression was  this  :  that  he  and  Joshua 
were  lying  side  by  side  (as,  in  fact  they 
were)  asleep,  and  that  a  woman  suddenly 
came  between  them.  Her  back  was  to 
him,  her  face  turned  to  Joshua ;  that  she 
sat  down  so,  and  so  remained,  for  an  hour 
and  more,  making  no  movement,  uttering 
no  sound ;  but  he  could  tell  that  all  the 
while  she  was  watching  Joshua's  sleeping 
form.  That  then  she  inclined  herself 
gently  to  Joshua,  and  pressed  her  lips  to 
his  hand  :  and  that  rising  to  go,  she  turned 
her  face  to  Rough-and-Ready,  and  he  saw 
that  it  was  Mrs.  Liddle's  gypsy-maid.  So 
far  his  fancies  went.  Starting  into  a  sitr 
ting  position,  he  saw  Minnie  a  few  paces 
from  him,  making  her  way  to  where  the 
women  were  lying. 

Now  this  set  Rough-and-Ready  thinking 
—  for  more  reasons  than  one.  Had  he 
been  dreaming,  or  had  it  really  occurred  ? 
If  it  had  occurred,  it  must  have  been  love 
that  prompted  her.  He  had  observed  her 
the  previous  night  sitting  near  Joshua; 
but  then  it  had  not  been  so  noticeable,  for 
there  was  no  kind  of  order  on  the  raft. 
How  long  had  she  known  Joshua?  He 
was  the  more  perplexed  because  he  had 
never  seen  the  two  in  conversation,  and 
because  of  the  mystery  surrounding  the 
acquaintance.  He  was  troubled,  too ;  for, 
rough  as  he  was,  and  old  enough  to  be  Min- 
nie's father,  he  had  taken  a  tender  interest 
in  her,  and  the  discovery  he  had  just  made 
came  upon  him  like  a  shock. 

Every  person  on  the  raft  was  asleep 
with  the  exception  of  the  men  in  the 
watch  and  himself.  He  did  not  feel  in- 
clined to  lie  down  again,  so  he  sat  and 
thought  of  things.  In  such  a  solemn 
scene,  and  at  such  solemn  moments  the 
spirit  of  nature  works  wonders  in  the 
minds  of  the  roughest  men  —  quickens  the 
sympathies,  and  stirs  into  life  the  tenderest 
memories.  It  was  so  with  Rough-and- 
Ready  at  the  present  time.  Incidents  in 
his  life  which  had  been  so  long  unremem- 
bered  that  he  wondered  how  he  thought 
of  them  now,  came  vividly  before  him. 
His  'home  —  his  mother  —  small  domestic 
joy-s  and  griefs  —  a  brother  who  died  when  I 


they  were  both  children,  with  whom  he 
used  to  play  and  pelt  with  daisies  — 
Good  God !  what  kind  of  a  bridge  was 
that  in  his  life  that  spanned  that  time 
and  this?  By  what  strange  steps  had  he 
walked  from  then  to  now  ?  The  stars 
grew  less  bright  and  paled  out  of  the 
skies ;  the  water  grew  grayer  in  the  brief 
space  before  the  morning's  dawn.  Soon 
in  the  east  a  thin  line  of  water  at  the  edge 
of  the  horizon  quickened  into  life,  and  Na- 
ture's grandest  wonder  began  to  work  in 
the  dawning  of  a  new  day.  The  water- 
line,  a  mere  thread  at  first,  but  broadening 
with  every  second  that  marked  the  flight 
of  gray  shadows,  was  rosy  with  blushing 
light.  Purple  clouds,  fringed  with  won- 
drous colors,  surrounded  the  clear  space, 
in  which  presently  the  glorious  sun  rose 
grandly  from  the  golden  bed  of  waters ; 
and  as  it  rose,  sky  and  sea  rejoiced.  At 
one  time,  for  a  few  moments,  the  sea  was 
like  a  field  of  golden  corn  waving  in  the 
sun's  eye ;  but  soon  it  deepened,  till  it  and 
the  heavens,  that  looked  down  into  its 
mighty  depths,  were  filled  Avith  flaming 
restless  light,  which  in  their  turn  gave  way 
to  softer  shadows.  Many  a  sunrise  had 
Rough-and-Ready  seen,  but  never  one  that 
he  had  watched  so  steadily  as  this ;  but 
it  seemed  as  if  his  thoughts  were  in  har- 
mony with  it. 

Late  in  the  day,  Rough-and-Ready  asked 
Joshua  how  long  he  had  known  Mrs.  Lid- 
dle's maid.  Joshua  looked  at  him  curi- 
ously, but  did  not  reply.  He  had  not 
spoken  to  Minnie  since  they  had  been  on 
the  raft,  and  had,  indeed,  taken  pains  to 
avoid  her.  She  did  not  intrude  herself 
upon  him;  she  submitted  in  patience  to 
the  silence  he  imposed  upon  her  by  his 
manner.  But  a  strange  phenomenon  took 
place  in  her.  While  the  others  grew 
weaker  and  paler  and  more  unhappy,  she 
seemed  to  gather  fresh  strength,  and 
actually  grew  rosier  and  more  hardy. 
The  dark  color,  too,  was  dying  out  of  her 
face. 

"I  have  a  reason  for  asking,"  said 
Rough-and-Ready,  as  an  excuse  for  his 
question. 

Joshua  nodded,  not  unkindly,  but  with  a 
troubled  face. 

"  There  is  a  strange  story  connected 
with  your  question,"  he  said  ;  "  so  strange 
and  so  painful,  that  I  cannot  give  you  an 
answer." 

"  I  thought  there  was  some  mystery 
in  the  afi'air,"  observed  Rough-and-Ready ; 
"  but  I  will  not  press  upon  your  confidence. 
Do  you  know  that  the  night  before  last  she 
watched  by  you  the  whole  time  you  ;  were 
asleep  ?  " 

"  Watched  by  me  ?  "  ' 


ON  THE  RAFT. 


"  Ay.  And  last  night,  too,  for  some 
time  —  I  don't  know  for  how  long." 

Joshua  gave  Rougli-and-Ready  an  amaz- 
ed look,  and  turned  away  to  where  Minnie 
was  sitting.  She  saw  him  coming  towards 
her,  and  her  heart  beat  fast. 

"  Why  have  you  watched  near  me  for 
two  nights  V  "  he  asked,  without  looking  at 
her. 

"  You  have  enemies  on  the  raft,"  was 
the  answer,  very  quietly  given. 

"  I  know ;  Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar. 
But  I  can  take  care  of  mj-self." 

"  Not  when  you  are  asleep,"  she  said, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

What   could   he   do? 


say 


?     Tosjether  on    the 


What  could  he 
raft  in  the  preS' 


ence  of  Death,  trom  which  only  something 
very  like  a  miracle  could  save  them,  could 
he  be  stern  and  harsh  to  her?  And  his 
great  misery  was,  that  he  knew  and  felt 
his  power.  He  knew  that  an  unkind  word 
from  him  to  this  young  girl  was  as  bitter 
as  death  could  be. 

"  You  are  like  the  rest  of  us,  I  suppose," 
he  said,  gently ;  "  growing  very  weak." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  she  answered, 
trembling  at  the  gentleness  of  his  voice ; 
"I  feel  strong  as  yet.  Shall  we  be 
saved  ?  " 

"  We  are  in  God's  hands,"  he  said.  "  I 
think  there  is  but  little  chance  of  being 
picked  up,  or  even  of  making  friendly 
land." 

Neither  addressed  the  other  by  name. 

"  If  the  end  comes,  and  you  know  it, 
and  I  am  not  near  you,  will  you  try  and 
find  me,  and  say  a  kind  word  to  me  before 
I  die  ?  " 

He  gave  her  the  promise,  and  hurried 
suddenly  from  her,  for  his  heart  was  fit 
to  break,  and  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
say  more. 

The  third  day  passed,  and  the  fourth. 
No  sign  of  succor  near.  Hope  began 
to  die. 

On  the  sixth  morning,  when  the  roll 
was  called,  one  of  the  passengers  did  not 
answer  to  his  name.  It  was  Mr.  Brace- 
girdle. 

"  He  is  asleep,"  said  one. 

They  shook  him,  but  he  did  not  move. 
He  was  dead.  This  was  the  first  death, 
and  it  affected  them  deeply.  Before  he 
was  sewn  in  the  canvas,  he  was  searched, 
in  the  anticipation  of  finding  something 
useful.  A  surprising  discovery  was  then 
made.  He  had  in  his  pocket-book  and 
round  his  waist  bank-notes  and  bills  for 
more  than  ten  thousand  pounds.  But 
nobody  knew  any  thing  about  him ;  he 
died,  as  he  had  lived  among  them,  a 
mystery.  After  his  body  was  slipped  into 
the   sea,   a  whisper   went  about  that  the 


f 


4i6t  been^libnestly 


money  found  oil 
come  by. 

That  same  night  two  sailors  were 
washed  into  the  sea.  When  it  became 
known,  there  were  some  among  them  who 
secretly  rejoiced  in  the  thought  that  tliere 
would  not  be  so  many  mouths  to  feed. 
Nearly  a  third  of  the  provisions  was  eaten, 
and  the  women  were  very  weak.  Little 
Emma  Pigeon  held  out  the  best;  but  that 
was  because  her  mother,  from  even  her 
small  portion,  gave  some  to  her  child  be- 
tween the  times  of  serving  out  the  provis- 
ions ;  the  child  also  was  petted  and 
nourished  by  the  other  women.  Rough- 
and-Ready  was  especially  considerate  to 
the  females.  Joshua  saw  him  chewing 
something,  and  wondered  what  it  was. 
Noticing  the  look  of  inquiry  on  Joshua's 
face,  Rough-and-Ready  enlightened  him. 

"  I  am  eating  leather,"  he  said. 

Joshua  stared  at  him.  Then  Rough- 
and-Ready  took  from  his  pocket  a  dozen 
very  thin  strips  of  leather  which  he  had  cut 
out  of  his  boot,  and  told  Joshua  that  he  had 
found  a  new  food.  He  gave  Joshua  a 
couple  of  strips  —  very  thin  they  were,  al- 
most like  a  wafer  —  and  Joshua  set  to  work 
on  them,  and  after  some  difficulty,  chewed 
them  to  a  pulp  and  swallowed  them. 

"  There's  nothing  like  leather,"  said 
Rough-and  Ready  with  a  quiet  laugh.  "  It 
wants  strong  teeth,  but  it  fills  up  an  empty 
place  in  the  stomach." 

The  next  day  Joshua  noticed  that 
Rough-and-Ready  received  his  tablespoon- 
f'ul  of  preserved  meat  in  his  handkerchief, 
and  later  on  he  saw  Rough-and-Ready  slyly 
feeding  little  Emma  with  a  portion  of  the 
meat,  and  then  go  to  her  mother  and  slip 
what  remained  into  her  hand. 

Now  and  then  a  few  small  fish  were 
caught.  There  being  no  means  of  cooking 
them,  the  women  refused  their  share  with 
horror,  but  the  men  ate  them  raw.  They 
also  snared  some  birds,  and  ate  them  in  the 
same  manner. 

On  the  twelfth  night  Scadbolt  and  the 
Lascar  lay  side  by  side  awake.  Nearer 
than  they  to  the  edge  of  the  raft  lay  a  ship- 
mate, chewing  tobacco. 

"  All  mine  is  gone,"  said  Scadbolt  envi- 
ously. 

"  And  mine,"  said  the  Lascar,  with  a 
horrible  look  at  the  man  who  was  chewing. 

"  I  think  he  must  have  a  good  lot  left.  I 
heard  him  boast  of  it  last  week." 

"  Two  men  are  better  than  one." 

"  Wait  till  that  black  cloud  touches  the 
moon  ;  then  stop  his  mouth ;  I'll  do  the 
rest !  " 

The  black  cloud  travelled  on  and  on, 
crept  before  the  moon,  and  soon  shut  out  its 
liorht.     When  the  moon  shone  again  upon 


164 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


the  waters  there  was  one  man  less  on  the 
raft,  and  Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar  were 
chewing  tobacco  greedily  ! 

These  two  men  had  a  line  out  in  the 
water,  with  a  small  hook  at  the  end  of"  it. 
The  Lascar  felt  it  jerk.  He  pulled  in  the 
line ;  there  was  a  fish  at  the  end  of  it, 
weighing  more  than  a  pound.  He  took 
from  his  pocket  a  six-bladed  knife,  opened 
the  largest  blade,  and  cut  the  fish  in  two 
equal  parts.  He  gave  one  to  Scadbolt,  and 
ate  the  other  himself.  So  that  they  should 
not  be  observed,  they  lay  down  on  their 
faces  while  they  ate. 

"  That  was  a  good  bit  of  luck,"  said 
Scadbolt ;  "  I  feel  stronger." 

"  If  the  skipper  caught  us,  he  would  throw 
us  overboard,"  whispered  the  Lascar. 

"  Ple'd  try  to ;  but  one  man  is  as  good  as 
another  now.  Let  us  do  this  and  take  care 
of  ourselves  ;  we  shall  outlast  the  others.  I 
wish  they  were  all  dead  —  all  but  two." 

"  Ay,  Joshua's  Marvel's  one.  I  know 
what  you  mean.  You'd  like  to  have  the 
doing  of  him.  So  would  I.  Who's  the 
other  ?  " 

"  The  gypsy-maid.    She's  a  rare  beauty." 

The  Lascar  did  not  say  any  thing  to  this. 
He  had  seen  enough  since  they  had  been  on 
the  rait  to  convince  him  that  his  first  suspi- 
cions were  right,  and  that  the  gypsy-looking 
girl  really  was  Minnie.  Notwithstanding 
their  desperate  condition,  he  had  cast  many 
admiring  glances  at  her. 

"  How  fine,"  he  thought,  "  to  strike  at 
Joshua  Marvel  through  her  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 

SAVED   FROM    THE    SEA. 

The  first  among  the  passengers  to  com- 
pletely give  way  was  Stephen  Homebush. 
He  had  observed  no  manner  of  discretion 
in  eating  his  food,  and  had  always  swal- 
lowed it  hastily,  so  that  it  did  him  but  little 
good.  Contrary  to  what  might  have  been 
expected  of  him  as  a  man  of  pious  parts, 
he  was  the  most  selfish  of  all  the  passen- 
gers. Instead  of  praying  for  mercy,  he 
rebelled  in  thought  and  speech  against  the 
mislbrtune  which  had  overtaken  him.  Pie 
did  not  think  of  the  others.  It  was  his 
fate  that  was  so  hard.  The  prayers  that 
he  had  so  liberally  offered  up  for  other  lost 
men  were  not  for  him  now  that  he  was  lost. 
All  other  men  were  sinners,  —  so  he  had 
preached.  There  was  no  grace  in  any  of 
them.  He  came  to  impart  it  to  them. 
Let  them  open  their  rebellious  hearts,  and 


receive  it,  while  there  was  yet  time.  To 
all  kinds  of  men  had  he  preached  this, 
striking  at  them  hard,  trying  to  frighten 
them  with  threatened  penalties  if  they  re- 
fused to  believe  as  he  believed.  He  came 
to  give  them  grace  ;  did  he  himself  require 
none  ? 

What  kind  of  faith  is  that  which  believes 
all  other  taiths  wrong  and  sinful  ?  What 
is  the  test  of  faith  ?  Sincerity  ?  Ay,  for 
me  ;  but  not  for  you.  1  am  sincere  ;  I  am 
born  in  the  grace  of  God.  But  you  1  Fall 
down  and  repent  1 

Such  had  been  the  preaching  of  Stephen 
Homebush.  But  now  that  the  earth  was 
crumbling  from  beneatli  his  feet,  and  the 
New  Life  was  before  him,  he  prayed  neither 
for  others  nor  for  himself.  He  maintained 
a  sullen  rebellious  silence,  faithful  to  his 
nature  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  His 
mood,  no  less  than  the  scanty  supply  of 
food  and  his  manner  of  eating  it,  drove 
him  mad ;  and  within  a  fortnight  of  his 
sojourn  on  the  raft,  he  was  crawling  and 
staggering  about,  uttering  a  dreadful  jum- 
ble of  prayers  and  blasphemies.  His  sister 
Rachel  attended  to  him  as  well  as  her 
strength  allowed  her  ;  but  he  struck  at  her 
often,  and  often  cursed  her  and  himself. 
It  was  terrible  to  see  and  hear.  He  did 
not  suffer  long.  One  day  he  ran  from 
one  part  of  the  raft  to  another,  raving  that 
a  sail  was  in  sight.  At  first  they  thought 
that  he  might  be  right,  but  they  soon  dis- 
covered that  he  was  raving.  But  he  saw 
the  ship  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  His 
sister  was  the  only  one  who  had  patience 
to  bear  with  him.  He  described  the  ship 
to  her,  and  described  the  men  and 
women  that  were  on  the  deck;  and 
she  shuddered  as  she  recognized  in  his 
descriptions  acquaintances  and  relatives 
every  one  of  whom  was  dead. 

"  Here  it  comes,"  he  said,  standing  up 
in  his  eagerness,  "  nearer  —  nearer  !  I 
shall  be  able  to  jump  on  board  presently." 

She  strove  to  restrain  him ;  but  he  broke 
from  her  wildly,  and  gave  a  leap  on  to  the 
imaginary  ship.  He  sank  at  once,  and  was 
seen  no  more. 

The  forlorn  woman  sat  stupefied,  and 
never  moved.  Hours  afterwards,  Rough- 
and-Ready,  taking  pity  upon  her  condi- 
tion, spoke  to  her,  and  bade  her  take  com- 
fort. The  sense  of  what  he  said  was  lost 
to  her,  but  she  understood  the  sympathy 
that  was  expressed  in  his  voice,  and  she 
looked  at  him  gratefully  while  tlie  tears 
rolled  down  her  tiace.  He  placed  his  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  and  said  gently,  "  Poor 
woman  !  poor  woman  1 "  She  took  his  hand 
in  hers,  and  clung  to  it,  as  if  her  only  hope 
of  life  was  there.  He  could  not  disengage 
his  hand  except  by  force ;  so  he  sat  by  hei 


SAVED  FROM  THE   SEA. 


165 


for  an  hour  and  more,  until  she  released 
him.  Then  he  crept  to  where  the  women 
were  lying;  there  was  cointbrt  in  being 
close  to  them. 

One  of  their  most  frightful  experiences 
was  the  sight  of  the  sharks  snapping  at  the 
bodies  as  they  were  thrown  into  the  sea. 
A  great  number  of  these  creatures  followed 
the  raft  day  and  night,  scenting  their  prey. 
Each  of  the  unfortunates  thought,  as  he 
saw  the  sharks  tearing  at  the  body  of  his 
fellow  creature,  "  Perhaps  it  is  my  turn 
next."  About  the  twentieth  day  they 
caught  at  least  a  dozen  rock  cod,  but  after 
that  they  caught  no  fish  for  many  days. 
Soon  their  fresh  water  was  nearly  gone ; 
for  some  time  past  they  had  only  half  a 
pint  a  day  ;  now  the  quantity  was  reduced 
to  a  quarter  of  a  pint.  Some  tins  of  the 
preserved  meat  were  also  found  to  be 
putrid :  the  women  could  not  touch  it ;  but 
a  tew  of  the  sailors  Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar 
among  them,  devoured  it  greedily.  When 
another  new  moon  rose,  the  courage  of 
nearly  every  one  of  them  was  gone  ;  hope 
had  fled  too.  They  looked  upon  themselves 
as  doomed. 

A  curious  conversation  took  place  be- 
tween the  two  friends,  Harry  Wall  and 
James  Heai'tsease.  In  the  morning  they 
had  refused  their  portion  of  food. 

"  Save  it  for  the  women,  sir,"  they  said 
to  the  captain. 

He  expostulated  with  them,  and  tried  to 
prevail  upon  them  to  take  it,  but  he  did 
not  succeed. 

"  Sir,"  said  James  Heartsease,  "  we  are 
going  to  lie  down  to  die.  We  both  of  us 
feel  that  our  time  has  come.  To  rob  the 
poor  women  of  any  more  food  would  be 
simple  barbarity.  I  should  like  to  shake 
hands  with  you." 

Captain  Liddle  shook  hands  with  them  ; 
and  after  that  they  crawled  to  the 
women,  and  shook  hands  with  them,  and 
kissed  little  Emma  Pigeon.  Then 
they  crawled  away,  and  lay  down  side  by 
side. 

"  The  end  has  come,  Jim,"  said  Harry. 

"  All  right,  Hal,"  said  James ;  "  it  is 
only  a  matter  of  a  few  years  —  perhaps 
not  so  long  as  that.  If  we  bad  had  plenty 
to  eat,  it  might  have  come  just  the  same. 
After  all,  what  is  time  V  Draw  a  breath, 
and  it  is  gone.  It  isn't  so  hard  to  give 
up  a  few  years  when  you  think  of  that. 
Besides  "  —  But  here  he  paused. 

"  Besides  what,  Jim  ?  " 

"  We  are  alone ;  we  have  no  women- 
ties  —  no  wives,  no  sweethearts.  If  we 
had,  1  think  we  should  both  try  to  live  as 
Jong  as  we  could." 

"  I  think  so  too.  Tis  a  good  job  we 
are  alone  in  the  world." 


"  Did  you  notice  the  women,  Ilal  ?  1 
don't  think  they'll  last  long." 

"  One  of  them  won't,"  said  Harry. 
"  Mrs.  Pigeon  will  soon  go.  Well,  you 
know  the  reason  of  that." 

"  Yes  ;  she  gives  all  her  food  to  her  lit- 
tle girl.     Women  are  good  creatures,  Hal." 

"  Such  as  she  are.  Jim,  old  boy,  a  sud- 
den weakness  has  come  over  me.  Put 
your  face  closer  to  mine  —  I  want  to  kiss 
you.     Good  old  boy  —  good  old  boy  !  " 

They  did  not  speak  for  some  time  after 
that.  Heartsease  was  the  first  to  break 
silence. 

"  Hal,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  "  we  shall 
meet  somewhere  by  and  by." 

"  Sure  to,"  said  Harry  ;  "  somewhere, 
somehow.     It  is  awfully  grand  to  think  of 

—  it  is  good  to  believe.  I  am  glad  I  never 
did  any  great  wrong  to  sting  me  now.  Jim, 
depend  upon  it,  there  is  only  one  true  re- 
ligion ;  that  is,  the  religion  of  being  kind 
and  tender  and  unselfish  —  the  religion  of 
doing  unto  others  as  you  would  others 
should  do  unto  you,  and  of  living  a  good 
life.  Give  me  the  man  who  does  that,  and 
who  believes  in  the  goodness  and  greatness 
of  God.  All  the  rest  is  mummery.  We 
have  agreed  upon  that,  haven't  we  old 
boy?" 

"  Ay,  times  out  of  mind." 

"  Now,  I  tell  you  what  I  am  going  to  do. 
I  don't  want  to  quite  starve  to  death  —  it 
would  be  too  painful ;  it's  frightful  to  bear 
even  now.  I  don't  want  to  commit  suicide, 
although  to  throw  one's  self  into  the  water 
just  now  would  be,  in  a  certain  measure, 
justifiable.  I  am  going  to  draw  myself 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  raft ;  then  I  am 
going  to  sleep.  If  the  waves  should  chance 
to  wash  me  over  in  the  night  —  good  I 
Let  them  ;  then  I  shall  know  something." 

"  All  right,  Hal ;  I'll  lie  by  your  side. 
Good-night,  old  fellow." 

"  Good-night." 

When  the  sun  rose  again,  those  two  good 
friends  had  gone  to  their  rest,  to  meet  again 
Somewhere  —  Somehow  I 

So  day  after  day  passed,  and  their  num- 
bers continued  to  grow  fewer,  until  there 
were  no  more  than  eighteen  on  the  raft. 
In  the  first  quarter  of  the  second  new  moon 

—  that  is,  when  they  had  been  on  the  raft 
for  more  tlian  thirty  days  —  Mrs.  Pigeon 
died.  When  the  news  went  round,  there 
were  few  dry  eyes  among  the  poor  creatures. 
Every  one  loved  her,  even  to  Scadbolt  and 
the  Lascar,  whose  clothes  she  had  mended. 
It  was  a  wonder  how  she  had  lasted  so  long, 
for  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  she 
could  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  food  ;  she 
gave  it  all  to  her  little  daughter.  When, 
almost  by  force,  a  small  portion  had  been 
put  into  her  mouth,  Joshua  had   seen   her 


166 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


take  it  out  to  feed  Little  Emma.  That  is 
why  the  child  lived  while  the  mother 
starved  to  death.  Between  Mrs.  Pigeon 
and  Minnie  a  strong  affection  had  sprung 
up.  Minnie  scarcely  ever  left  the  side  of 
the  dying  woman,  and  what  little  she  could 
do  to  ease  her  last  hours  —  it  was  but  lit- 
tle, God  knows  !  —  she  did  tenderly  and 
cheerfully.  Minnie  knew  that  Mrs.  Pigeon 
was  starving  herself,  so  that  her  little  girl 
might  live.  The  beauty  of  that  sacrifice 
Minnie  was  well  able  to  comprehend.  She 
would  have  done  the  same.  .  But  she  was 
terribly  unhappy.  She  knew  by  Joshua's 
manner,  and  by  the  few  words  that  he 
spoke  to  her  —  kind  one  day,  constrained 
the  next  —  that  her  conduct  had  added  to 
his  unhnppiness.  She  had  seen  hin»  look 
at  her  with  such  a  look  of  fear  and  wild 
amazement  in  his  eyes,  as  to  convey  to  her 
the  impression  that  she  had  done  him  a 
great  wrong.  But  so  blinded  was  she  by 
her  love,  that  she  could  not  quite  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  this  ;  indeed,  she  did 
not  pause  to  consider.  The  night  before 
Mrs.  Pigeon  died,  Minnie  lay  by  her  side, 
talking  in  whispers.  But  few  words  were 
spoken  at  a  time  ;  Mrs.  Pigeon  was  too  weak. 
The  mother  lay  with  her  child  in  her  arms, 
and  her  husband  sitting  close  to  her,  his 
hands  clasping  his  knees,  and  with  an  ex- 
pression of  stony  despair  in  his  face.  So 
he  had  sat  for  three  or  four  days,  answer- 
ing his  wife  vacantly,  and  with  the  air  of 
one  whose  mind  was  a  blank.  Little  by 
little,  Minnie  had  told  Mrs.  Pigeon  her 
story  ;  and  the  dying  woman,  notwith- 
standing her  own  great  trouble,  had  wept 
with  Minnie,  and  sympathized  with  her. 
But  Mrs.  Pigeon,  as  well  as  expressing 
her  sympathy,  had  striven  to  make 
Minnie  aware  of  the  fault  she  had  com- 
mitted. 

"  You  see,  my  dear,"  she  gasped  in  her 
weak  voice,  "  he  has  left  a  sweetheart  at 
home,  and  he  fears  that  if  it  were  known 
that  you  were  in  the  ship  with  him,  she  and 
his  other  friends  might^believe  that  he  had 
played  flilse  with  them." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that  before,"  sobbed 
Minnie.  '•  I  only  thought  of  one  thing  :  I 
loved  him,  and  I  wanted  to  be  near  him. 
I  didn't  want  him  even  to  know  ;  and  those 
at  home  had  no  idea  of  what  I  was  going 
to  do  —  they  can't  even  suspect." 

"  But  Mr.  Marvel  fears  they  may.  Then 
think,  my  dear,  was  it  not  wrong  to  leave 
your  father  ?  " 

"  It  was  —  I  see  it  now ;  but  I  did  not 
think  of  it  then.  But  O  Mrs.  Pigeon,  if 
he  would  only  forgive  me  !  If  I  ask  him, 
he  will ;  but  the  answer  would  come  out  of 
the  goodness  of  his  heart,  and  while  he 
ibrirave   he  would   still    condemn    me.     I 


know  it,  I  know  it,  for  he  has  never  once 
called  me  by  my  name." 

Soon  after  that,  Mrs.  Pigeon  fell  into  a 
doze ;  and  waking  when  it  was  near  mid- 
night, whispered,  "  Minnie  !  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Minnie.  '  She  had  been 
sleeping  too,  but  so  lightly  that  a  whisper 
was  sufficient  to  awake  her. 

"  I  have  not  long  to  live,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Pigeon ;  "  and  I  should  like  to  pass 
my  last  minutes  alone  with  my  husband 
and  child,  and  to  speak  to  no  one  but  them 
—  to  think  of  no  one  but  them.  But  be- 
fore I  go,  I  should  be  glad  to  say  good-by 
to  Joshua  Marvel.  Can  you  bring  him  to 
me  ?     Say  that  I  am  dying." 

Repressing  her  sobs,  Minnie  crept  to 
where  Joshua  was  standing  on  the  lookout. 
lie  had  grown  thin  and  gaunt  like  the  others ; 
his  feet  were  bare,  the  only  pair  of  shoes 
he  had  possessed  having  been  rotted  by 
the  salt  water ;  his  clothes  hung  about  him 
in  tatters  ;  and  his  face  was  covered  with 
hair,  which,  having  not  yet  grown  to  a 
decent  length,  atlded  to  the  wretchedness 
of  his  appearance.  The  moon  had  gone 
down,  and  Joshua,  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  was  looking  out  to  sea,  possessed 
with  the  fancy  that  he  saw  a  sail  many 
miles  away.  This  had  now  become  a  very 
common  illusion  ;  scarcely  a  man  on  board 
who  did  not  see  imaginary  sails  and  ships 
a  dozen  times  a  day.  With  a  weary  sigh 
Joshua  dropped  his  hand. 

"  It  is  folly,"  he  muttered ;  "  there's  no 
hope." 

Minnie  timidly  touched  his  sleeve,  but 
did  not  succeed  in  attracting  his  attention. 
Then  she  called  softly,  "  Joshua !  "  And 
he  gave  a  gasp,  and  tm-ned  and  saw  her  ; 
but  there  was  not  light  enough  for  him  to 
see  the  tears  upon  her  face. 

"  Mrs.  Pigeon  has  sent  me  for  you,"  said 
Minnie.  "  She  is  dying,  and  wants  to  wish 
you  good-by." 

He  followed  her  in  silence  to  where  Mrs. 
Pigeon  was  lying. 

"  Is  it  so  bad  ?  "  he  asked  gently,  as  he 
leaned  over  her  close  enough  to  see  her  poor 
thin  face. 

"  Y'^es,"  she  murmured.  "  Sit  by  me  for 
a  few  minutes." 

He  sat  down,  and  took  her  wasted  hand 
in  his :  it  was  like  the  hand  of  a  skeleton, 
thin  and  cold  —  a  hand  already  dead, 
though  it  closed  on  Joshua's  fingers. 

"  Every  one  speaks  well  of  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Pigeon  in  broken  tones :  "  I  have 
heard  the  captain  speak  many  times  of 
your  courage  and  goodness  and  constancy." 

"  I  have  been  glad  to  hear  it,  and  am 
glad  to  hear  it  again,"  replied  Joshua ;  '•  it 
is  my  best  reward  as  a  sailor." 

"  You  have  a  kind  heart,  I  am   sure," 


SAVED   FROM  THE   SEA, 


167 


continued  the  dying  woman.  "  1£  it  were 
in  your  power  to  lessen  the  bitter  grief  that 
even  a  mere  acquaintance  might  suffer,  you 
would  do  so." 

"  I  think  I  would." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would ;  if  only  for  the 
sake  of  thot  e  you  love  at  home,  and  to 
whom  you  w  juld  wish  that  others  might  be 
kind  when  grief  comes  to  them.  You  will 
forgive  me  for  speaking  thus;  but  I  am 
dying,  and  I  am  a  woman.  I  cannot  say 
much  more  ;  I  am  too  weak.  If  I  could 
see  you  do  one  little  thing,  I  should  be 
glad." 

"  I  will  do  any  thing  you  ask." 
"  Because  a  dying  woman  asks  you  ;  but 
do  it  from  your  own  kind  impulse  as  well. 
That  is  what  I  wish.     You  know  who  it  is 
that  is  sitting  by  us  now." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  with  a  troubled 
glance  at  Minnie. 

"  She  has  been  very  good  to  me,  very 
kind,  very,  very  patient.  And  she  is  so 
young  !  Soon  you  and  she  may  follow  me. 
Think  of  that." 

"  ^yhat  is  it  you  would  have  me  to  do  ?  " 
"  I  would  have  you  be  kind  to  this  poor 
child  ;  I  would  have  you,  at  this  awful  time, 
show  to  her  the  love  that  a  brother  might 
show  to  a  sister.  She  has  committed  a 
fault ;  forgive  her  for  it ;  let  her  atone  for 
it.  Be  not  you  the  one  to  cast  the  stone  at 
her.  And  when  you  speak  to  her,  speak 
from  your  heart ;  for  she  can  read  and 
understand,  as  all  loving  women  can,  the 
music  of  the  voice." 

"  Minnie,"  said  Joshua,  turning  to  her. 
Mrs.  Pigeon  had  loosed  his  hand  ;  and  now 
he  held  out  his  two  hands  to  Minnie.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  called  her  by  her 
name. 

"  Joshua,"  she  said,  with  deep  sobs,  her 
hands  in  his,  and  bowing  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder  until  her  lips  almost  touched 
his  face. 

Was  it  treasonable  to  Ellen  that  he 
should  permit  it  ?  Surely  not,  surely  not, 
at  such  a  tune. 

"  You  have  made  me  glad,"  said  Mrs. 
Pigeon.  "  Now  go.  GooJ-by.  Heaven 
send  you  peace  !  " 

"  And  you  !  "  they  both  said. 
Mrs.  Pigeon  nestled  her  face  close  to  that 
of  her  little  daughter,  and  soon  afterwards 
died  peacefully. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  Mr.  Pigeon 
seemed  to  awake  to  the  reality  of  things. 
Kneeling  by  the  side  of  his  wife,  he  called 
softly,  "  Emma  !  Emma  !  "  And  receiving 
no  answer,  shook  her  gently,  and  smoothed 
the  hair  from  her  white  face. 

"  Be  comforted,"  said  Joshua  to  him. 
"  Comforted  ! "  he  repeated  with   a  pon- 
dering look,  as  if  he  were  considering  what 


meaning  there  was  in  the  word.  He  kissed 
her  passionately,  and  whisjiered  something 
in  her  ear,  and  waited  lor  the  answer  that 
could  not  come.  '■  My  God ! "  he  cried 
suddenly,  "  she  is  dead  !  " 

Minnie  placed  Little  Emma  before  him, 
thinking  that  the  sight  of  his  little  girl 
mi;4ht  lessen  his  grief;  but  he  took  no 
notice  of  the  child,  and  sat  the  whole  day 
nursing  the  dead  body  of  his  wife  in  his 
lap.  One  tin  of  preserved  meat  was  all 
that  remained  now  of  their  stock  of  pro- 
visions. They  brought  his  small  share  to 
him ;  but  he  motioned  them  away  im- 
patiently and  fretfully.  They  went  to  him, 
and  endeavored  to  make  him  understand 
that,  lor  the  sake  of  the  others,  he  should 
allow  the  remains  of  his  wife  to  be  placed 
in  their  poor  shroud  of  sacking;  but  he 
met  them  savagely,  and  tlireatened  to  bite 
at  them  and  strangle  them  if  they  did  not 
let  him  alone. 

"  For  the  sharks  to  eat,"  he  whispered  to 
the  inanimate  form ;  "  they  want  to  throw 
you  into  the  sea  for  the  sharks  to  eat,  my 
darling.  But  I'll  tear  their  hearts  out  be- 
fore they  part  us." 

\Vhen  the  silver  crescent  looked  down 
again  upon  the  despairing  group,  Joshua 
tried  once  more  to  comfort  the  man,  and 
said,  with  a  heavy  heart,  that  perhaps  at 
the  last  moment  a  ship  might  pick  them  up. 
But  though  he  uttered  the  words,  he  did 
not  believe  in  them. 

"  And  if  it  does,"  muttered  Mr.  Pigeon 
hoarsely,  "  what  do  I  care  now  ?  You 
don't  know  what  it  is  to  lose  the  woman 
you  love."  He  staggered  to  his  feet  with 
the  beloved  form  in  his  arm.  "  You  want 
to  take  her  from  me ;  that  is  why  you 
speak  the  lying  words.  But  nothing  shall 
part  us  —  nothing." 

Her  face  was  lying  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  her  fair  hair  was  hanging  loosely  down 
over  his  breast.  He  took  some  of  the  hair 
in  his  mouth  ;  and  as  Joshua  saw  him  stand- 
ing thus  in  the  moon's  light,  he  thought  he 
had  never  seen  a  picture  so  utterly  despair- 
ing. Thus  the  man  stood,  motionless,  for  a 
time,  until  the  captain's  lady  crept  to  his  side, 
and  tried  to  console  him.  Poor  thing  !  she 
was  terribly  weak,  and  the  words  came 
from  her  lips  slowly  and  wearily.  He 
gazed  at  her  vacantly  while  she  spoke,  then 
turned  his  eyes  to  his  dead  wife. 

"  Emma,"  he  said,  "  don't  fear  ;  nothing 
that  they  say  shall  make  me  give  you  up. 
We  will  go  together —  we  will  go  together." 

He  cast  one  last  look  at  the  peaceful 
heavens,  and  whispering,  "  Lord,  receive 
us  !  "  clasped  his  wife  more  closely  to  him, 
and  jumped  into  the  sea.  Two  or  three 
heads  turned  at  the  plash ;  but  no  other 
notice  was  taken  of  the  event.     Thev  were 


168 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


all  too  weak  and  despairing.  The  cap- 
tain's wife  gasped,  with  heart-bi'oken 
sobs,  — 

"  Poor  dears  !  poor  dears  !  Their  trou- 
bles are  over;  they  are  happier  than  we 
are." 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  said  Joshua;  "but  I 
would  not  end  my  life  like  that.  We  are 
in  the  hands  of  the  Lord  ;  our  lives  belong 
to  Him." 

He  stretched  himself  at  full  length  upon 
the  raft,  and  took  Ellen's  picture  and  the 
lock  of  hair  from  his  breast,  and  kissed 
them  again  and  again.  They,  and  the 
Bible  that  Dan  had  given  him,  were  his 
most  precious  possessions.  AVlien  he  looked 
up,  Minnie  and  Little  Emma  were  close 
to  him.  He  took  the  child's  hand ;  and 
they  remained  together  during  the  long, 
long  night. 

A  dreadful  announcement  was  made  the 
n^t  day.  The  water  that  was  served  out 
was  the  last  —  one  tablespoonful  each  ex- 
hausted the  store ;  all  the  provisions  were 
used  up  also.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  the 
best  thing  they  could  do  would  be  to  die 
at  once  by  their  own  hands.  The  rules 
made  by  the  council  were  no  longer  thought 
of.  Something  to  eat,  something  to  drink  : 
these  were  the  only  laws  now.  When  the 
next  man  died,  the  sailors  looked  longingly 
at  the  body.  The  Lascar  had  his  knife 
open,  and  was  about  to  use  it,  when  Cap- 
tain Liddle  called  to  him  to  stop. 

"WhyV"  asked  the  Lascar,  with  a 
savage  flourish  of  his  knife. 

"  Why  ?  "  echoed  the  other  men  :  there 
were  only  six  of  them  left  altogether. 

"  Because  fish  is  better  to  eat  than 
human  flesh,"  said  the  captain. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  one ;  "  but  we  haven't 
any  more  fishing-line." 

"  Come  now,"  said  the  captain,  "  even 
without  that  we  can  manage  to  catch  a 
shark  perhaps.  Wait  a  few  minutes.  I'll 
think  of  a  way." 

And  sure  enough,  very  soon  he  devised 
a  snare.  First  a  running-bowling  knot 
was  made ;  then  they  cut  a  leg  off  the  man 
that  was  dead  (terrible  to  write,  but  true), 
and  lashed  it  to  the  end  of  an  oar ;  while 
on  the  end  of  another  oar  they  hung  the 
snare  in  such  a  way  that  the  fish,  to  get  at 
the  bait,  was  compelled  to  come  through  it. 
There  were  plenty  of  sharks  ;  and  it  was 
not  long  before  one  fell  into  the  trap.  It 
was  dragged  on  to  the  raft;  and  a  few 
blows  from  an  axe  soon  killed  it.  After 
that,  the  man  was  sewed  in  sacking,  and  the 
funeral-service  was  read  over  him,  as  it 
had  been  over  all  the  others  who  had  been 
buried  in  the  sea. 

During  all  this  time  it  was  evident  that 
they   were   near  the   coast,  and  yet  they 


never  saw  it.  The  captain  said  that  they 
were  in  the  vicinity  of  the  north-east  coast 
of  Australia  —  a  part  of  the  continent 
which  had  been  very  little  explored.  Here 
came  in  Rough-and- Ready's  experience. 
He  knew  something  of  the  country,  he  said. 
It  was  inhabited  by  the  most  savage  of  the 
Australian  natives,  and  no  white  man  had 
as  yet  had  the  courage  to  penetrate  far 
into  the  country. 

•'  Yet  we  might  make  the  coast,"  said 
Rough-and- Ready,  "  and  not  see  a  native 
for  a  long  time,  if  we  could  manage  to  live  ; 
for  I  don't  believe  there  are  a  great  many 
of  them.  Cannibals  they  are ;  but,  for  all 
that,  I  should  be  glad  to  get  among  them. 
We  might  succeed  in  working  oiu*  way 
down  to  a  cattle-station." 

"  Would  there  be  really  a  chance  of 
that  ?  "  asked  one  or  two. 

"  About  a  hundred  to  one  against  us," 
replied  Rough-and- Ready  carelessly ;  "  but 
that  would  be  better  than  nothing." 

Rough-and-Ready  gave  them  a  descrip- 
tion of  some  natives  that  he  had  seen,  and 
told  of  their  manner  of  living,  their  treach- 
ery and  wildness.  It  was  not  very  com- 
forting to  hear;  the  prospect  of  reaching 
land,  and  finding  themselves  in  the  midst 
of  such  savages,  was  very  dismal. 

The  suffei'ing  that  they  had  now  to  bear 
—  that  of  thirst  —  was  the  most  awful  ex- 
perience of  all.  Some  of  them  grew  deli- 
rious, and  saw  gardens  and  pools  of  fresh 
water.  "  My  lady  "  was  one  of  these.  She 
whispered  to  her  husband  that  a  beautiful 
garden  was  within  a  few  yards  of  them, 
and  that  they  should  reach  it  presently. 
She  described  the  flowers  and  trees,  and 
the  cool  fruit  waiting  to  be  plucked.  And 
as  the  vision  faded,  she  clutched  him  by 
the  hand,  and  cried.  "  John,  John  !  What 
are  they  doing  ?  We  are  going  the  wrong 
way.  O  my  God !  we  have  passed  it  —  it 
is  gone  !  "  and  lay  exhausted.  The  words 
came  from  her  parched  throat  with  diffi- 
culty ;  and  Joshua  shuddered  as  he  touched 
her  face  :  it  seemed  to  be  on  fire.  Soon, 
however,  the  gardens  dotted  with  clear- 
water  fountains,  and  with  trees  laden  with 
refreshing  Iruit,  grew  again  for  the  delirious 
woman.  She  saw  them  in  the  water,  in 
the  air,  in  the  heavens  —  so  bright,  so  de- 
liciously  cool,  that  her  heart  almost  burst 
in  the  vain  attempt  she  made  to  reach 
them  with  her  hand.  A  little  rain  fell 
mercifully,  and  yet  mockingly ;  for  nearly 
every  thing  on  board  was  so  impregnated 
with  salt  as  to  render  the  pieces  of  rags 
and  canvas  that  were  held  out  to  catch 
heaven's  tears  no  better  when  they  were 
soaked  than  if  they  had  been  dipped  into 
the  sea.  Rough-and-Ready  took  the  lining 
out  of  his  wide-awake  hat;  and  he  and 


SAVED  FROM  THE   SEA. 


1G9 


Joshua  held  it  out  until  it  %vns  soaked  with 
the  bles.-<ed  drops.  Tiie  first  use  thvy  made 
of  the  piece  of  wet  rag  was  to  moisten  the 
women's  lips  with  it,  and  then  the  little 
girl's  and  their  own.  Little  Emma  lived 
still ;  and  Minnie  had  taken  charge  of  her. 
As  Joshua  moistened  Mrs.  Liddle's  lips, 
the  captain,  who  was  lying  beside  her, 
motioned  him. 

"  It  is  all  over  with  me.  Marvel,"  he 
gasped ;  "I  haven't  long  to  live.  If  by 
God's  mercy  you  are  rescued,  report  me  at 
home,  and  say  I  did  all  in  my  power  to 
save  the  ship."  Joshua  pressed  the  dying 
captain's  hand.  "  Mind,  you  are  first 
in  command  now.  In  a  few  hours  you  will 
be  captain.  You  have  risen  cpiickly,"  he 
said  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Beware  of  Scad- 
bolt  and  that  Lascar  dog.  When  I  am 
dead,  take  my  boots  —  you  have  none  — 
and  what  of  my  clothes  may  be  useful  to 
you  ;  take  the  log-book  too,  and  keep  it 
safe.  There  is  a  record  in  it  of  Scadbolt's 
conduct,  and  your  promotion.  It  will  be 
necessary  in  case  a  ship  picks  you  up. 
Scadbolt  was  your  superior  officer  when  we 
left  the  port  of  Sydney ;  and  he  might 
bring  a  charge  against  you,  which,  without 
the  log-book,  you  Avould  not  be  able  to  refute. 

Joshua  thanked  the  captain  for  his 
thoughtfiilness,  and  expressed  a  hope  that 
it  was  not  so  bad  with  lilm  as  he  feared. 
Then  the  captain  told  Joshua  how,  a  few 
days  before,  he  had  struck  his  head  against 
a  piece  of  iron,  and  how  he  had  lost  a  quan- 
tity of  blood.  Joshua  put  his  hand  to  the 
back  of  the  captain's  head,  round  which  a 
piece  of  canvas  was  tied,  and  felt  a  great 
gash  there. 

"  I  did  not  tell  any  one  ;  but  it  so  weak- 
ened me,  that  I  thought  I  was  about  to  die 
then.  This  is  a  piteous  sight !  "  pointing 
to  his  wife.  She  lay,  pale  as  death,  with 
her  eyes  wide  open,  gazing  at  the  gardens 
in  the  air.  The  tears  rolled  down  Joshua's 
face.  "  Bury  us  together,"  continued  the  cap- 
tain. "  There  are  two  or  three  pieces  of  iron 
you  might  put  into  the  canvas  with  us,  so 
we  may  sink  at  once.    You  will  do  this  ?  '  " 

"  Yes." 

Captain  Liddle  pressed  Joshua's  hand, 
and  creeping  close  to  his  wife  clasped  her 
in  his  arms.  In  the  mean  time  Rough-and- 
Keady  was  busy  squeezing  drops  of  fresh 
water  into  a  bottle.     He  saved  nearly  a  pint. 

Shortly  after  that,  Joshua  was  the  first 
to  see  land.  He  went  to  tell  the  Captain, 
but  could  not  arouse  him ;  his  heart  still 
beat,  but  very  faintly.  Night  came  on 
soon  ;  and  when  day  dawned  again  the 
land  was  gone.  Rough-and-Ready  came 
to  Joshua  with  a  grave  face.  He  said  noth- 
ing ;  but  Joshua  understood  him.  They 
■went  to  where  the  lifeless  bodies  of  the  I 


captain  and  his  wife  lay,  and  sewed  them 
in  canvas,  and  placed  inside  tlie  jiic'ces  of 
ii'on,  as  Joshua  had  promised.  Joshua 
read  the  burial-service  as  the  bodies  were 
thrown  into  tlie  sea.     They  sank  at  once. 

"  Not  numy  of  us  left,"  observed  Ruugh- 
and-Ready.  "  I  should  like  to  see  land 
again.  If  we  don't  sight  it  soon,  we  may 
find  that  the  worst  has  not  yet  come.  It  is 
as  Scadbolt  said  when  the  rules  were  being 
read,  '  Every  man  for  himself  now,  and 
God  for  us  all.'  But  come  what  may  we'll 
stick  to  each  other  and  to  the  women." 

"  It  does  my  heart  good  to  hear  you  speak 
so,"  said  Joshua.  "  I  know  what  you 
mean  :  the  worst  men  are  left  against  us  ; 
but  we  are  a  match  for  them,  I  think.  See, 
here's  the  log-book,  with  the  poor  skipper's 
last  words  :  "  I  apjioint  Joshua  Marvel  caf)- 
tain  of  this  raft,  made  out  of  the  spars  of 
the  '  Merry  Andrew,'  and  intrust  to  him  the 
charge  of  the  surviving  ])assengers  and 
crew. —  John  Liddle,  Master  of  the  'Merry 
Andrew.' " 

Rough-and-Ready  touched  his  hat  in 
sailor  fashion. 

"  While  we  are  at  sea,  captain,"  he  said, 
"  I  will  obey  your  orders." 

A  thrill  ran  through  Joshua  as  he  heard 
himself  called  captain.  Captain  !  But  of 
what  a  crew  1  The  promotion  had  come 
all  too  soon. 

Before  long  he  had  to  exercise  his  au- 
thority. They  were  being  driven  on  to  a  reef 
by  a  strong  current.  It  was  necessary  to 
get  the  raft  into  deep  water  before  dark. 
He  gave  his  orders ;  and  although  both 
Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar  saw  the  wisdom  of 
them,  they  refused  to  obey. 

"  I  am  captain,"  said  Scadbolt.  "  You 
will  obey  my  orders  now." 

Then  Rough-and-Ready  took  a  double- 
barrelled  pistol  from  his  belt,  and  gave  its 
fellow  to  Joshua.  They  covered  Scadbolt 
and  the  Lascar  with  them. 

"  Obey  orders  !  "  cried  Rough-and-Ready 
in  as  loud  a  voice  as  he  could  command. 
"  Obey  orders !  Speak  anotiier  word  of 
disobedience,  and  you  are  dead  men  1  " 

The  rebellious  men  were  cowed.  With 
scowling  faces  they  worked  as  Joshua  di- 
rected :  and  with  some  trouble  they  got  the 
raft  clear  over  the  reef,  and  floated  it  into 
deeper  water.  The  night  that  followed 
was  a  night  of  great  anxiety.  Joshua  knew 
that  they  were  near  land ;  and  he  and 
Rough-and-Ready  kept  watches  of  two 
houi's'  duration  in  turn.  The  reason  of  this 
was,  that  they  did  not  deem  it  safi;  to  sleep 
both  at  the  same  time  ;  for  they  suspected 
that  Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar  were  only 
waiting  for  the  opportunity  to  fall  upon 
them  and  kill  them. 

"  We  have  all  the  fire-arms,  thank  good- 


170 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


ness,"  said  Rough-and- Ready,  "and  all  the 
powder  and  shot.  We  are  masters  while 
we  can  keep  these." 

He  had  kept  a  sharp  guard  over  the  fire- 
arms, and  hud  indeed  secretly  dropped 
three  guns  into  the  sea.  "  Better  there  than 
in  those  rascals'  hands,"  he  wisely  thought; 
"  we  mustn't  cumber  ourselves  with  too 
much  lumber." 

In  the  night  Joshua  whispered  to  Rachel 
Homebush  and  Minnie  that  to-morrow  prob- 
ably would  decide  their  fate.  They  revived 
somewhat  at  the  news,  and  IVIinnie  directed 
Joshua's  attention  to  little  Emma  Pigeon. 

"  She  has  not  spoken  all  day,"  said  INIin- 
nie  anxiously. 

Joshua  placed  his  hand  on  the  little 
girl's  heart ;  it  beat,  but  very  faintly. 

"  She  will  live,  Minnie,"  said  Joshua, 
"if  we  can  reach  land;  we  are  certain  to 
find  food  then." 

While  they  spoke,  Minnie  kept  Joshua's 
hand  in  hers ;  it  was  her  only  comfort, 
poor  child.  He  was  kneeling  by  her  side, 
and  she  saw  in  his  face  that  he  had  no 
harsh  thoughts  for  her.  They  had  not  ex- 
changed a  word  about  their  friends  at 
home,  but  Minnie  said  to-night,  — 

"Joshua,  when  you  first  came  to  our 
little  room  —  do  you  remember  ?  —  what 
should  we  have  thought  if  a  wizard  had 
told  us  this  ?  " 

"  What,  indeed  !  "  replied  Joshua ;  and 
then,  after  a  pause,  "  Do  you  suffer  much, 
Minnie  ?  " 

'••"Not  now.  Ah,  Joshua,  if  I  can  only 
live  to  repay  you  !  " 

"  Keep  up  your  courage,  Minnie,  and 
pray  that  we  may  reach  friendly  land  — 
any  land  —  to-morrow,"  was  his  answer. 

She  did  pray  fervently,  and  when  day- 
light came  they  saw  land.  It  did  not  look 
very  friendly.  A  long  line  of  dark  savage- 
looking  rocks  was  what  they  saw ;  tower- 
ing gloomily  and  threateningly  for  the 
most  part,  but  with  many  a  little  inlet, 
which  offered  them  a  favorable  chance  of 
lauding,  as  Joshua's  seaman's  eye  dis- 
cerned. There  were  only  eight  living  per- 
sons now  on  the  raft  out  of  the  thirty-five 
who  first  took  shelter  there.  Five  men  — 
to  wit,  J(jshua,  Rough-and-Ready,  Scad- 
bolt,  the  Lascar,  and  the  sailmaker ;  two 
women  —  Rachel  Homebush  and  Minnie, 
and  the  little  girl  Emma.  The  men 
worked  and  watched  with  a  will.  Private 
animosities  were  for  the  time  forgotten ; 
but  for  all  that,  Rough-and-Ready  was  never 
off  his  guard.  Every  thing  looked  fair, 
when  suddenly  up  sprang  a  land  breeze, 
and  they  were  driven  to  sea  again ;  the 
hope  that  had  been  kindled  died  away. 
They  caught  a  cod,  but  the  women  turned 
from  it  with  loathing.    Then  Joshua  thought 


of  a  fine  thing.  The  sun  was  high  in  the 
heavens.  He  took  a  piece  of  rag  and 
washed  it  and  dried  it;  then  he  took  a 
magnifying  glass  out  of  a  telescope,  and 
caught  the  sun's  fire  on  to  the  rag.  He 
had  wood  ready,  and  they  made  a  fire  on 
the  raft.  The  sailors  ate  their  portion  of 
the  fish  raw ;  but  Joshua  put  his  and  the 
women's  and  Rough-and-Ready's  on  the 
wood,  and  roasted  it.  Before  they  gave 
this  delicious  food  to  the  women,  they 
moistened  their  lips  with  a  little  of  the 
water  that  was  still  left  in  Rough-and- 
Ready's  bottle ;  the  moistening  and  the 
food  were  new  Ufe  to  them  all.  Minnie 
chewed  a  little  of  the  fish  and  placed  it  in 
the  child's  mouth  ;  the  child  swallowed  it, 
with  difticulty  at  first,  and  seemed  to  grow 
stronger  soon  afterwards  ;  she  had  been 
better  nourished  than  the  others.  As  if  in 
reward  for  this  good  thought  of  Joshua's, 
the  wind  shifted  to  a  sea  breeze,  and  a 
couple  of  hours  before  mid-night  they 
were  di-iven  on  to  land.  It  required  the 
greatest  care  and  the  most  delicate  hand- 
ling to  steer  the  raft  safely  through  the 
rocks  ;  but  it  was  done.  Scadbolt  and  the 
Lascar  were  about  to  sci-amble  on  to  the 
rocks,  when  Rough-and-Ready,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder  —  he  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
recovered  his  full  strength  —  commanded 
them  to  stand.  Not  his  voice,  but  his  pis- 
tol, enforced  obedience. 

"  Why  ?  "  demanded  Scadbolt. 

"  Because  you  are  treacherous  dogs," 
roared  Rough-and-Ready  ;  "  because  you 
are  not  men,  but  savages  ;  because  I  know 
how  such  scum  are  to  be  treated.  Ah ! 
scowl  as  you  will !  but  I  have  shot  better 
men  than  you  down  before  to-night,  and 
I'll  shoot  you  down  if  you  dare  to  stir,  as  I 
would  a  brace  of  treacherous  dingos  or 
Blacks  —  they're  much  the  same.  The 
women  and  child  are  to  be  saved  first. 
Why,  if  we  allowed  you  to  get  ashoi'e,  you'd 
strike  us  from  the  rocks  before  we  got  a 
footing !  I  know  you,  you  see,  you  skunks. 
Marvel,  take  the  women  and  little  girl 
ashore  first,  one  by  one.  I'll  keep  guard 
here  the  while.  Sailmaker,  assist  Mr. 
Marvel." 

By  this  last  mastei-ly  stroke  Rough-and- 
Ready  enlisted  the  sailmaker  on  his  side, 
for  a  time  at  least.  For  the  sailmaker  and 
Joshua  were  man  to  man,  and  Joshua  had 
fire-arms.  So,  with  difficulty,  the  women 
and  child  were  conveyed  on  to  the  rocks  in 
safety ;  then  Rough-and-Ready  bade  Joshua 
take  ashore  what  things  would  be  useful 
from  the  raft.  Among  other  things,  Joshua 
took  ashore  two  axes,  all  the  nails  he  could 
find,  and  some  iron  pots.  The  women  also 
had  some  things  they  were  anxious  to  pre- 
serve —  needles  and  thread  and  such  like. 


SAVED  FROM  THE   SEA. 


171 


All  this  occupied  nearly  two  hours,  and  was 
not  accomplished  without  difficulty.  S(.':id- 
bolt  and  the  Lascar  stood  sullenly  by,  the 
while.  Rouo;h-and-Ready  was  in  his  ele- 
ment ;  he  absolutely  revelled  in  the  task  he 
had  set  himself.  It  was  as  good  as  ment 
and  drUik  to  him  to  watch  those  two  rascals 
and  beat  them  tlirouifh  their  fears.  When 
Joshua  and  the  sailmaker  had  completed 
their  task,  RoU'j;h-and-Ready  joined  them 
on  the  rocks.  After  him  Scadbolt  and  the 
Lascar  scrambled  on  to  land,  and  began  to 
look  hungrily  about  them.  It  was  a  fine 
night;  the  moon  was  nearly  at  its  full. 
The  first  thing  Rough-and-Ready  did  was 
to  cast  a  glance  at  the  women  lying  help- 
less on  the  rocks  ;  the  next  thing  he  did 
was  to  smooth  his  mustache  with  his  hand 
in  a  thoughtful  manner ;  the  next,  to  send 
a  dark  look  at  Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar, 
who  were  prowling  about  on  the  rocks  in 
search  of  shell-fish ;  the  next,  to  lay  his 
hand  in  a  familiar  manner  upon  the  sail- 
maker's  shoulder. 

"I  say,  mate,"  said  Rough-and-Ready, 
"  have  you  a  wife  at  home  ?  " 

"Two." 

Rough-and-Ready  whistled  loud  and  long, 
and  followed  up  the  whistle  with  a  laugh. 

"  It's  no  joke,"  said  the  sailmaker. 

"  One  isn't,  much  less  two,"  replied 
Rough-and-Ready,  with  a  wink ;  "  but 
never  mind  them  now." 

"  I'm  content." 

"  You  seem  a  good-hearted  fellow,  sail- 
maker, and  as  you  have  two  wives,  you 
must  think  a  great  deal  of  womankind." 

"I  love 'em,"  —  looking  at  the  two  poor 
creatures  lying  near  them. 

"I'm  a  bushman  myself,"  said  Rough- 
and-Ready,  with  assumed  carelessness ;  "  I'd 
as  soon  be  where  I  am  as  in  any  part  of 
the  world.  I  am  at  home  here.  What  do 
you  say,  mate  ?     Shall  we  be  friends  V  " 

"  Glad  to  be."  And  the  two  men  shook 
hands,  Rough-and-Ready  hugging  himself 
for  his  successful  diplomacy. 

"  You're  a  man  after  my  own  heart," 
said  Rough-and-Ready,  really  appreciating 
the  crisp  utterances  of  the  sailmaker,  who 
evidently  was  not  a  word- waster.  "  Seems 
to  me  tliat  the  first  thing  we've  got  to  do  is 
to  bring  the  women  round  ;  mustn't  let  them 
die,  eh  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  There's  a  split  in  the  camp,"  continued 
Rough-and-Ready.  "  Those  two  rascals 
prowling  about  in  search  of  something  to 
eat,  would  be  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  get 
rid  of  us ;  and  then  God  help  the  women  ! 
At  all  events  let  us  three  stick  together 
—  you  and  me  and  Captain  Marvel. 
Agreed  ?  " 
"  Agreed." 


"  Good.  What  I  want  to  do  is  to  get 
fresh  water  for  us  and  the  women  ;  I  know 
how  to  look  for  it.  Will  you  keep  guard 
over  the  women  with  Captain  Marvel  till  I 
return  V " 

'■  Yes." 

Rough-and-Ready  placed  a  loaded  pistol 
in  the  sailmaker's  hand  —  he  did  it  with- 
out hesitation  —  and  that  act  completed 
the  concjuest.  Joshua,  standing  by,  had 
heard  the  conversation,  and  now  shook 
hands  with  the  sailmaker.  Scadbolt  and 
the  Lascar  had  also  seen  the  conference. 

"  They've  bought  him  over,"  said  the 
Lascar. 

"  Never  mind,"  replied  Scadbolt,  "  there 
will  be  plenty  of  opportunities." 

In  less  than  an  hour  Rough-and-Ready 
returned.  He  had  taken  two  bottles  with 
him,  and  brought  th^m  back  filled  with 
bright,  clear,  fresh  water.  He  had  his 
wide-awake  hat  in  his  hand ;  it  evidently 
contained  something  good,  lie  was  so  care- 
ful in  carrying  it.  Joshua  put  his  hand  in, 
and  started  back  with  a  cry  ;  he  had  grasped 
a  nettle. 

"  Careful,  careful,"  said  Rough-and- 
Ready,  laughing  at  Joshua's  grimaces; 
'•  don't  be  too  eager  to  take  hold  of  things. 
A  great  deal  of  the  woud-growtli  round 
about  here  is  covered  with  thorns,  and  si-^ie 
of  them  are  poisonous  to  the  blood.  This 
isn't,  though  ;  'tis  an  old  friend." 

He  took  out  of  his  hat  two  small  branches 
with  long  spines  upon  them  ;  the  branches 
were  covered  with  fruit  resembling  a  small 
apple. 

"  Good  to  eat  V  "  asked  the  sailmaker. 

"  Shouldn't  have  brought  them  other- 
wise," answered  Rough-and-Ready,  in  un- 
conscious imitation  of  the  sailmaker's 
manner  of  speaking. 

The  sailmaker  took  some  of  the  fruit  and 
ate  it,  and  would  have  taken  more,  but  that 
Rough-and-Ready's   hand   restrained  him. 

"  That's  not  the  way  for  a  man  to  eat 
who  has  been  nearly  starved  for  six  weeks," 
he  said,  "unless  he  Avants  to  kill  himself 
right  out.  Here,  make  yourself  useful ; 
but  take  a  little  water  to  drink  first." 

Rough-and-Ready  measured  a  s::;.,ll 
quantity  of  water,  and  gave  the  sailmaker 
and  Joshua  to  drink.  He  had  thrown 
down  a  couple  of  pieces  of  wood  when  he 
said  "  Make  yourself  useful,"  and  the  sail- 
maker, after  drinking,  asked  him  what  tlie 
wood  was  for. 

"  A  good  job  for  you  two  that  you  have 
me  for  your  mate,"  said  Rough-and-Ready 
good-humoredly ;  "  you  might  stand  a 
chance  of  starving  else.  The  enemy  "— - 
with  a  nod  of  his  head  in  the  direction  of 
Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar  —  "  won't  be  half 
as  well  off  as  we  shall  be.     Just  watch  me." 


172 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


He  took  his  knife  and  cut  from  the  wood 
two  pieces,  in  one  of  which  he  made  a  kind 
of  groove,  which  he  placed  upon  the  ground. 
"  This  is  off  the  black  fig-tree,  and  is  the 
best  wood  there  is  for  making  fire.  Now 
rub  away  into  the  groove,  steadily,  like 
this,  and  keep  rubbing.  It's  hard  work; 
but  never  mind  ;  it's  worth  the  labor." 

He  disappeared  again,  leaving  the  sail- 
maker  at  work,  and  returned  with  an  arm- 
ful of  dry  sticks  and  leaves.  Soon  fire 
came  into  the  wood,  the  sparks  dropped  on 
to  the  dry  leaves,  and  a  blaze  was  kindled, 
that  brought  astonishment  into  the  eyes  of 
Scadbolt  and  the  Lascar.  Before  the  fire 
was  made,  the  indefatigable  bushman  had 
gone  down  the  rocks  this  time,  and  had 
returned  with  a  hat  full  of  mussels.  These 
he  put  on  the  fire  to  cook  ;  and  then  sat 
down  and  rubbed  his  hands  in  a  high  state 
of  satisfaction.  Joshua  had  not  been  idle ; 
he  had  attended  to  the  women  and  child, 
and  had  given  them  a  little  water,  which 
was  like  nectar  to  them.  They  were  too 
weak  to  exert  themselves ;  so  the  men  sat 
by  them  and  ate  supper,  and  gave  them  to 
eat,  sparingly,  under  the  direction  of 
Rough-and-Ready,  who  was  regarded  by 
the  others  with  unbounded  admiration. 
The  warmth  of  the  fire  was  very  comfort- 
ing to  them,  for  although  summer  was 
coming,  their  long  sojourn  on  the  i-aft  had 
chilled  their  blood. 

"  Well  now,  "  said  Rough-and-Ready, 
when  supper  was  over,  "  I  think  we  ought 
to  be  very  grateful  for  our  escape.  It  was 
touch-and-go  with  us.  We  sha'n't  be  very 
strong  for  a  few  days;  and  that's  what 
we've  got  to  do  first  :  to  get  strong.  Then 
we  can  look  about  us." 

"  Where  are  we  ?  "  whispered  Minnie. 

"  As  well  as  I  can  make  out,  my  dear, 
we  are  somewhere  on  the  north-east  coast 
of  the  continent  of  Australia ;  where  I 
don't  believe  a  white  man  ever  trod  foot 
before.  That's  something,  isn't  it  ?  We're 
the  first  bits  of  civilization  that  these  rocks 
have  ever  seen." 

"  Is  there  any  chance  of  a  ship  seeing 
us  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  it ;  but  for  my  part  I  don't 
want  a  ship  to  see  me ;  I've  had  enough  of 
ships.  I  feel  at  home  here,  or  I  shall  feel 
so  in  a  little  while.  I  don't  doubt  but 
what  we  shall  be  able  to  get  plenty  to  eat 
and  di'ink,  and  that's  our  first  great  need. 
Try  and  sleep  for  an  hour  now.  Strength 
is  what  Ave  want,  remember." 

Rachel  Ilomebush  turned  to  him  and 
held  out  her  hand.  She  was  grateful  for 
being  saved,  but  she  did  not  speak.  The 
three  men  arranged  to  get  a  little  rest  also, 
watch  and  watch  in  turn.  It  was  Rough- 
and-Ready's   watch  first.      Before  Joshua 


lay  down,  he  went  to  see  if  Minnie  was 
asleep.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  but  she  was 
aware  of  his  approach. 

"  That  is  you,  Joshua  ?  " 

"Yes,  Minnie.  Do  you  think  you  can 
sleep  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  am  strangely  excited. 
I  thank  God  that  you  are  saved.  Joshua," 
rising  to  a  sitting  posture  and  taking  his 
hand,  "  you  will  not  be  mikind  to  me  now 
that  we  are  out  of  danger  ?  " 

"  Surely  not,  Minnie.  What  makes  you 
ask  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid,  that  was  all." 

Here  the  little  child  murmured  some- 
thing. Minnie  placed  her  ear  to  the  girl's 
lips. 

"  She  asked  who  was  talking  to  me,  and 
I  told  her  you,"  said  Minnie,  taking  Little 
Emma  upon  her  lap.  "  She  wants  you  to 
kiss  her." 

Joshua  stooped  and  kissed  the  little  girl, 
and  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
asked  where  papa  had  gone  to.  Joshua 
turned  away,  and  pressing  Minnie's  hand, 
was  soon  afterwards  in  the  land  of  dreams. 
So,  during  the  night,  they  slept  and  watch- 
ed, and  in  their  troubled  dreams  felt  the 
rocks  moving  and  swaying  beneath  them. 
Every  now  and  then  they  started  in  terror, 
and  clutched  what  was  nearest  to  them,  as 
if  life  was  slipping  away;  they  suffered 
over  again  the  agonies  of  thirst,  and  moved 
their  parched  lips  entreatingly.  When  it 
was  Joshua's  watch,  he  observed  the  suffer- 
ings of  his  sleeping  companions  ;  he  guessed 
the  cause,  for  he  had  suffered  himself  in 
like  manner.  With  merciful  though tful- 
ness  he  moistened  their  lips  with  fresh 
water ;  the  women  smiled  and  grew  more 
composed ;  perhaps  at  that  moment  they 
dreamed  that  an  angel  was  bringing  them 
life  and  health.  Minnie's  head  was  lying 
on  her  hand,  and  her  face  was  exposed  to 
the  light.  It  was  sun-burnt,  but  the  gypsy 
stain  was  dying  out  of  it.  Her  hair  too 
was  growing  lighter  and  longer.  Joshua 
looked  up  at  the  sky  and  round  about  him 
at  the  strange  scene.  Over  his  head  the 
light  of  day  was  just  breaking,  but  the 
dusky  shadows  still  lay  upon  the  waters. 
Behind  him  a  faint  light,  heralding  the 
sun,  was  quivering  on  distant  wood  and 
upland. 

"  Dan  made  me  promise,"  he  said  softly 
to  himself,  as  the  wonderful  strangeness  of 
his  position  came  upon  him,  "  when  I  was 
seeing  strange  sights  in  strange  places,  to 
think,  "  Dan  is  here  with  me.  although  I 
cannot  see  him."  Is  Dan  here  with  me 
now  ?  Is  it  possible  that  he  can  have  the 
vaguest  idea  of  me  as  I  stand,  heart- wreck- 
ed, in  this  wild  country?  I  will  try  to 
believe  so;  I  will  try  to  believe  that  he 


ON  THE  ROCKS. 


173 


and  Ellen  see  me  as  I  am,  know  me  as  I 
am,  and  pity  me.  I  could  die  here  now 
contentedly,  if  that  were  a  conviction. 
Ellen,  dear  wife  1  Dan,  dear  friend  1  dear 
mother  and  father !  stand  fast  to  me,  and 
believe  that  I  never  wavered  in  my  love 
and  my  truth  !  " 

This  was  his  theme  that  he  thought  of 
and  mused  upon,  while  all  the  others  were 
asleep.  Tlie  rocks  were  burnished  with 
golden  light  before  they  awoke. 


CHAPTER  XXXm. 

ON   THE    ROCKS. 

As  the  sailmaker  was  stretching  himself, 
Rough-and-Ready,  who  was  already  stir- 
ring, said,  — 

"I  say,  mate  what  name  shall  we  call 
you  by  ?  " 

"  Isn't  Sailmaker  good  enough  ?  "  was 
the  Irish  answer. 

"  It's  good  enough ;  but  it's  no  name." 

"  Tom,  for  short,  then." 

"  That'll  do,  Tom ;  it's  like  your  talk, 
short,  and  to  the  point." 

From  that  time  they  talked  of  him  as 
Tom  the  Sailmaker. 

"  We're  going  to  look  for  something  for 
breakfast,  Marvel,"  said  Rough-and-Ready. 
"  Don't  wake  the  women  —  let  them  have 
their  sleep  out.  And  keep  your  eye  on 
those  two  rascals  yonder.  If  they  come  to 
close  quarters,  have  no  mercy.  They'd 
have  none  on  you.     Come  along,  Tom." 

They  returned  some  two  hours  after- 
wards, with  smiling  faces.  The  women 
gathered  hope  from  their  cheerful  coun- 
tenances. The  sailmaker  was  loaded  with 
wood  to  replenish  the  fire,  which  had  not 
been  allowed  to  go  out  during  the  night. 

"  We're  going  to  have  a  fine  breakfast," 
said  Rough-and-Ready,  flourishing  half  a 
dozen  plump  pigeons.  He  chuckled  as  he 
exhibited  them  ;  but  he  had  no  time  for 
trifling.  There  was  more  serious  business 
to  attend  to  —  the  cooking  of  the  pigeons. 

With  those  and  a  lew  mussels  they 
made  a  breakfast  fit  for  kings  and  queens. 
The  two  malcontents  in  the  distance  had 
no  fire  and  no  pigeons  ;  they  made  their 
breakfast  ofl['  cold  shell-fish,  and  looked  with 
envious  eyes  at  the  cooking  going  on  among 
the  other  party. 

"  Ah,  ah,  my  fine  fellows  ! "  cried  Rough- 
and-Ready,  waving  half  a  roasted  pigeon 
in  the  air  ;  "  what  d'ye  think  of  mutineer- 
ing  now  ?  " 

They  could  not  hear  him,  but  they  un- 
derstood his  taunting  action. 


Said  Rough-and-Rcady  to  the  women, 
when  breakfast  was  finished,  — 

"  Can  you  handle  a  pistol  ?  Could  you 
pull  the  trigger  of  one  straight  in  the  face 
of  man  or  beast,  if  danger  threatened  ?  " 

They  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  You  mi^ht  have  to  do  it,"  continued 
Rough-and-Ready ;  "  so  you  had  better 
learn,  and  be  prepared." 

"  But  why  ?  "  they  asked. 

"  You  see,  my  dears,  there  are  two  par- 
ties of  us.  Here  we  are.  one  party.  Yon- 
der are  two  rascals,  another  party.  We  are 
not  the  best  of  friends,  we  two  parties.  If 
they  could  get  rid  of  us,  they  would.  By 
fair  means  they  can't ;  but  they  might  try 
foul.  Now  I  take  it  that  we  men  have  to 
look  after  you  and  protect  you  —  and  you 
may  depend  upon  us  for  doing  our  best,  my 
dears.  We  must  see  to  every  thing  —  food, 
lodging,  protection  from  storms  and  from 
savage  Blacks.  That  may  take  us  away 
from  you  sometimes,  and  those  rascals 
might  steal  upon  you  unaware.  Or  another 
thing  might  happen  :  we  might  fall  sick. 
Then  who  will  protect  you  ?  Or  another 
thing  —  But,  pshaw!  there  are  a  dozen 
other  reasons  why  you  should  learn  to 
use  fire-arms."' 

Without  more  ado  he  showed  them  how 
to  load  a  pistol  and  fire  it,  and  indeed  was 
not  content  until  they  did  it  to  his  satis- 
faction. Minnie  was  the  more  expert  of 
the  two ;  she  soon  learned.  Then  said 
Rough-and-Ready,  — 

"  Now,  we  are  going  to  take  a  walk.  A 
mile,  I  dare  say.  We  shall  be  followed, 
you'll  see ;  the  enemy  will  want  to  know 
where  we  are  ^oing." 

Rough-and-Ready  took  Little  Emma  in 
his  arms,  the  sailmaker  assisted  Rachel 
Homebush,  and  Joshua  attendeil  to  ^linuie. 
As  Rough-and-Ready  expected,  Scadbolt 
and  the  Lascar  followed  them  at  a  distance. 
Rough-and-Ready  led  the  way  over  the 
rocks,  on  to  sand,  into  forest.  They  were 
nearly  an  hour  before  they  came  to  the  end 
of  their  journey,  for  the  women  were  very 
weak  and  could  walk  but  slowly.  Without 
any  forewarning,  Rough-and-Ready  stop- 
ped. 

"  Here  is  another  thing  I  have  to  teach 
you.     A  native  call." 

And  to  their  astonishment,  he  put  his 
hands  to  his  mouth  and  emitted  a  shrill  cry, 
that  rang  through  the  woods  and  seemed 
to  linger  there.  The  word  he  uttered  was 
"  Coo-ee  !  "  and  the  sound  was  composed  of 
two  notes,  she  second  an  octave  higher  than 
the  first.  He  made  them  all  repeat  the 
cry  atter  him  many  times,  and  made  them 
dwell  on  the  notes  as  long  as  their  breath 
lasted. 

"  If  we  miss  each  other,  and  lose  our  way, 


174 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


that  cry  will  be  a  si2;nal.  You  have  no 
idea  how  far  it  will  travel,  if  you  dwell  long 
enoiiiih  on  the  notes.  Now,  you"  (to  the 
men)  "  stop  here  for  a  little  while.  You, 
(to  the  women)  "  follow  me." 

They  obeyed  him  unhesitatingly.  He 
led  the  women  over  a  rise  in  the  woodland, 
where  the  trees  were  thickly  grouped ;  and 
when  they  were  on  the  declivity  on  the 
other  side,  they  saw  at  the  base  of  the  rise 
a  lovely  creek  of  fresh  water  sparkling  in 
the  sun. 

"  You  will  not  be  disturbed  for  an  hour," 
he  said,  and  darted  away. 

They  divined  the  meaning  of  this  deli- 
cate thoughtfulness.  and  with  full  confi- 
dence in  him  and  his  party  they  made 
their  way  to  the  creek,  and  bathed  and 
combed  their  hair.  (I  vouch  for  the  comb, 
but  am  not  prepared  to  say  where  it  came 
from,  for  the  cunning  of  woman  is  beyond 
me.)  The  men  looked  at  them  with  aston- 
ishment when  they  came  back,  sleek  and 
trim.  They  appeared  to  have  grown  a 
dozen  years  younger.  They  blushed  and 
smiled  as  the  men  gazed  at  them,  and  Lit- 
tle Emma  lisped.  "  It  was  so  nice  1 "  Even 
Rachel  looked  brighter  and  more  womanly. 

After  them,  the  men  went  in  turns  and 
bathed,  and  by  that  time  they  were  hungry 
enough  for  their  dinner.  Rough-and-Ready 
had  already  provided  it,  having  shot  a  suf- 
ficient number  of  birds  for  three  or  four 
meals.  Nothing  could  satisfy  them  after 
dinner  but  to  go  to  the  rocks,  and  look  sea- 
ward for  the  sight  of  a  ship.  Rough-and- 
Ready  declared  it  was  useless.  "  Time 
thrown  away,"  he  said.  "  If  we  see  a  ship, 
we  have  no  means  of  signalling  it;  and 
even  if  we  had,  'tis  a  thousand  to  one  that 
they  would  not  see  the  signal."  But  all- 
potent  as  his  authority  and  advice  were  in 
every  other  matter,  he  could  not  prevail 
upon  them  to  cast  away  the  hope  of  being 
rescued  by  that  means.  Before  night  came 
they  made  their  way  back  to  the  woods, 
ancl  constructed  some  rough  tents  with 
branches  of  trees,  to  sleep  in.  As  they 
were  collecting  suitable  timber,  Rough-and- 
Ready,  who  never  omitted  an  opportunity 
to  instruct  his  companions  in  the  resources 
of  the  country,  called  their  attention  to  a 
group  of  curiously-twisted  trees,  which  he 
said  were  apple-trees,  although  there  was 
no  fruit  on  them.  On  nearly  every  one  of 
them,  three  or  four  feet  from  the  ground, 
was  a  lame  knob,  bulging  out  like  a  tumor. 

"  See  how  bountiful  Nature  is,"  said 
Rough-and-Ready.  "  You  need  seldom  be 
in  want  of  water  or  food,  if  you  know  the 
secrets  of  the  bush." 

He  dug  his  knife  into  one  of  the  knobs, 
and  fresh  water  ran  out  of  the  wood. 
They  tasted  it,  and  found  it  very  sweet. 


It  was  a  beautiful  night,  and  they  sat 
talking  for  some  time  before  they  retired 
to  rest.  Their  strength  was  recruited  by 
the  nourishing  food  they  had  eaten,  and  by 
the  bath  they  had  had.  They  had  not  seen 
the  Lascar  or  Scadbolt  since  the  morninor, 
and  they  deemed  it  prudent  to  keep  watch 
during  the  night.  Now  that  the  first  ex- 
citement of  being  saved  was  over,  their 
thoughts  turned  to  their  unfortunate  com- 
panions who  had  found  a  grave  in  the  cruel 
sea,  and  they  shed  pitiful  te'ars  over  the 
memory  of  the  dead. 

Rough-and-Ready's  experience  of  the 
Australian  natives  was  largely  drawn  upon 
during  the  night.  Although  he  said  noth- 
ing of  his  past  career,  it  was  evident  that 
he  was  well  acquainted  with  every  thing 
appertaining  to  Australian  bush-life.  His 
descriptions  of  the  natives  were  not  com- 
forting ;  he  described  them  as  treacherous, 
mean,  and  cruel.  As  to  their  chances  of 
escape,  he  declared  that  there  was  no  hope 
from  the  sea.  Their  best  plan  would  be  to 
try  and  work  their  way  southward,  but  not 
for  some  time,  until  they  were  quite  strong. 

"  We  will  camp  here,"  he  said,  "  for  two 
or  three  weeks  at  least,  and  try  and  learn 
something  about  the  country." 

But  he  told  Joshua,  when  they  two  were 
alone,  that  he  only  said  that  to  console  the 
women. 

"  We  can  manage  to  live  here ;  but  to 
get  south  we  should  have  to  cross  country, 
where  we  should  almost  certainly  be  starved 
to  death  or  butchered  by  the  Blacks." 

The  prospect  was  dismal  indeed ;  they 
seemed  to  be  cut  off  from  the  world. 

Notwithstanding  that  the  women  3hud- 
dered  and  trembled  as  they  listened  to 
Rough-and-Ready's  account  of  the  natives, 
with  whom  they  were  almost  certain  to 
come  in  contact  soon,  the  subject  was  too 
fascinating  to  be  avoided.  So,  being  com- 
pelled to  talk  about  them,  he  spoke  of 
many  strange  things  concerning  them. 
The  conversation  turning  upon  their  super- 
stitions, he  told  his  hearers  of  the  savage 
beliefs  in  water-spirits  and  land-spirits,  who 
are  all  females,  and  walk  about  without 
heads;  of  the  Oorundoo,  who  comes  out  of 
the  water  to  di-own  bad  wives ;  of  the  Ba- 
lumbal,  a  gentle  race  of  spirits  who  live 
upon  the  sweet  leaves  of  fiowers ;  of  the 
Bunyip,  a  monster  who  lives  in  the  large 
lakes,  and  who  issues  therefrom  to  seize  wo- 
men and  children  ;  of  Potoyan,  a  spirit  of 
darkness,  whose  Whisper  strikes  terror ; 
and  of  many  other  singular  beliefs. 

Said  Rough-and-Ready,  "There  is  no 
surer  way  to  frighten  the  blacks  than 
through  their  superstitious  fears.  Their 
'  doctors '  can  work  upon  them  as  they 
please." 


BITTER  REVELATIONS. 


175 


Joshua  h.afl  taken  care  of  his  accordion, 
and  had  preserved  it  ahnost  uninjured.  He 
played,  and  tliey  all  listened  wondiu'ingly 
to  the  soft  notes  of  "  Home,  sweet  home," 
floating  througli  the  woods.  It  was  like  a 
dream ;  they  could  scarcely  believe  they 
were  awake.  When  lie  ceased  playing,  a 
melancholy  cuckoo-note  came  from  the 
distant  woods. 

"  '  Tis  tlie  niorc-pork,  a  night-bird,"  said 
Rough-and-Ready.  "  I  never  beard  it  sing 
in  the  day." 

They  retired  to  their  beds  of  dry  leaves 
soon  after  that,  and  dreamed  of  the  strange 
things  they  had  heard.  But  Joshua  could 
not  sleep.  Some  time  before  midniglit  —  it 
might  have  been  an  hour  —  he  rose  and 
■wandered  away  from  the  camp,  through 
the  solemn  woods.  He  took  no  notice  of 
the  groups  of  majestic  trees  through  wliich 
he  walked  —  here  masses  of  the  silver- 
leaved  iron-bark  ;  there  thick  clusters  of 
the  gigantic  palm,  woven  together,  as  it 
were,  by  luxuriant  vines  trailing  through 
their  topmost  branches.  Strange  effects  of 
light  and  shade  were  produced  by  this  nat- 
ural network  ;  but  Joshua  took  no  heed  of 
them,  nor  of  tlie  other  wonders  of  the 
woods  by  whicli  he  was  encompassed.  A 
sense  of  awful  desolation  was  upon  him  ; 
tremblingly  lie  retraced  his  steps  till  he 
came  to  the  camp,  where  he  sank  upon  the 
ground  exhausted  by  emotion.  The  full 
moon  rose  and  shed  its  light  upon  him.  He 
took  from  liis  breast  the  Bible  whicli  Dan 
had  given  liim,  and  read  upon  its  first  page, 
"  From  Dan,  with  undying  love  and  confi- 
dence." Those  words  did  much  to  calm 
him ;  lie  kissed  them,  and  pressed  the  book 
to  his  heart,  and  gradually  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep.  • 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

BITTER      RKVELATIONS. 

Here  in  the  grand  Australian  woods  are 
two  tents  —  gnnyahs,  Rough-and-Ready 
calls  them  —  built  of  tea-tree  bark,  bound 
round  by  vine  creepers.  They  are  in  the 
form  of  a  hive,  and  are  wonderfully  pictur- 
esque and  comfortable.  Up  to  this  time, 
the  castaway  dwellers  in  these  gunyahs 
have  been  undistm'bed  by  savages,  and  this 
has  been  a  matter  of  surprise  to  all  but 
Rough-and-Ready.  "  Wait  till  after  the 
rainy  season,"  he  has  said  a  dozen  times ; 
"  we  shall  have  plenty  of  them  then." 
Rough-and-Ready  has  made  this  "rainy 
season  "  a  pretext  for  lingering  near  the 
spot  where  they  first  camped  after  their 


rescue.  It  would  be  suicide,  he  told  them, 
to  attempt  to  move  at  present ;  they  would 
not  be  able  to  make  their  way  through  the 
country.  But  indeed  all  of  them,  with  the 
exception  of  Joshua,  were  content  to  remain 
where  they  were ;  they  dreaded  to  en- 
counter the  horrors  of  the  wild  country 
through  which  they  would  have  to  pass. 
Joshua  was  the  only  one  who  fretted  at 
their  life  of  inaction.  It  seemed  to  him  the 
cruellest  thing  to  remain  passive  while  El- 
len and  Dan  and  his  parents  were  waiting 
for  him  at  home.  But  what  could  he  do? 
Without  the  assistance  of  Rough-and- 
Ready  he  was  powerless ;  and  that  wise 
man  of  the  woods  declared  emphatically 
that  it  would  be  madness  to  stiU't  upon 
such  an  expedition.  So  Joshua  was  com- 
pelled to  wait  for  events  to  shape  his  des- 
tiny, and  fretted  and  worried  because  he 
could  take  no  hand  in  the  direction  of  them. 
It  was  a  good  thing  for  him  that  he  had 
plenty  to  do ;  he  might  else  have  lost  his 
reason.  Rough-and-Ready  was  the  best  of 
physicians  ;  he  would  not  allow  any  of  his 
companions  to  be  idle,  and  he  took  care  to 
supply  them  with  more  work  than  they 
could  conveniently  accomplish.  He  derived 
a  huge  pleasure  from  this  cunning  proceed- 
ing, and  had  many  a  sly  laugh  to  himself 
because  of  it.  The  building  of  the  gunyahs 
was  a  matter  in  which  he  took  especial  de- 
light, and  he  and  his  mates  labored  at  them 
for  many  days ;  when  they  were  finished, 
Rough-and-Ready  declared  that  they  were 
better  than  the  finest  stone  houses  that 
ever  were  built.  Tlie  women  took  delight 
in  them  also,  and  decorated  them  with  the 
prettiest  creepers  they  could  find.  During 
all  this  time  they  were  not  molested  by 
Scadbolt  and  th^  Lascar.  In  their  rambles 
through  the  woods  they  occasionally  came 
upon  traces  of  the  two  rascals  and  caught 
distant  glimpses  of  them,  but  they  never 
came  to  close  quai-ters.  Once  Scadbolt  had 
attempted  to  make  overtures ;  but  he  was 
warned  off  with  small  ceremony  by  Rough- 
and-Ready,  who  declined  to  parley  with 
him. 

On  a  certain  moonlight  night,  not  many 
nights  ago,  Rough-and-Ready  invited 
Joshua  to  accompany  him  on  an  expedi- 
tion. Coming  to  a  place  where  the  mooQ 
was  shining  over  the  tops  of  the  gum-trees, 
Rough-and-Ready  motioned  Joshu:i  to  be 
still,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  heard  a 
call,  half  scream,  half  chatter.  Presently 
Rough-and-Ready  raised  his  gun,  pulled 
the  trigger,  and  down  came  two  animals 
shaped  like  cats,  with  long  brushy  tails, 
sharp  claws,  and  something  like  thumbs  on 
their  hind  feet. 

" '  Possmns,"  said  Rough-and-Ready  in 
explanation. 


176 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


He  had  founrl  out  a  haunt  of  these  ani- 
mals, and  that  night  they  brourrht  back 
more  than  a  dozen,  some  ring-tailed,  some 
silver.  They  could  only  be  shot  on  moon- 
light nights,  said  Rough-and-Ready,  and 
are  chiefly  found  wlaere  the  gum  or  p(;pper- 
mint-tree  abounds.  They  had  a  splendid 
harvest,  and  in  a  week  they  collected 
nearly  a  hundred.  Rough-and-Ready  was 
mighty  particular  about  the  skinning  of 
them,  and  about  rubbing  the  fleshy  parts 
of  the  skins  with  fine  wood-ashes  before 
fixing  them  on  the  trees  to'dry.  They  also 
caught  a  score  or  so  of  the  sugar-s(purrel, 
whose  fur  is  real  chinchilla.  Upon  these 
skins  Minnie  and  Rachel  are  busy  now  with 
needle  and  thread,  making  caps  for  the 
men.  It  is  a  strange  sight  to  see  such  evi- 
dences of  civilization  in  the  wild  woods. 
The  women  had  begged  Rough-and-Ready 
to  spare  the  lives  of  two  young  opos- 
sums which  were  found  alive  in  their  moth- 
ers' pouches,  and  he,  knowing  that  they 
could  be  easily  tamed,  had  readily  consent- 
ed. They  were  the  most  docile  and  liarm- 
less  little  things,  and  soon  became  domesti- 
cated, if  such  a  word  may  properly  be  used 
in  the  life  I  am  describing.  At  the  present 
time,  one  of  them  is  hanging  head  down- 
wards, with  its  tail  curled  round  the  branch 
of  a  tree,  in  a  state  of  serene  happiness  and 
content.  The  other  is  with  Little  Emma, 
who  is  sitting  not  far  from  the  women,  play- 
ing with  it  in  the  midst  of  a  great  heap  of 
wild  flowers  she  has  collected. 

The  females  are  not  alone.  Two  of  the 
men  are  away,  but  Joshua  is  in  sight,  busy 
with  his  axe  cutting  up  a  tree  for  slabs. 
To  tell  truth,  Rough-and-Ready  is  not  de- 
sirous of  moving  from  the  woods  where 
they  are  now  camped,  unless  they  are  com- 
pelled to  do  so  by  the  savages  or  by  unfore- 
seen circumstances.  They  are  camped  upon 
high  land,  where  they  are  comparatively 
safe  from  floods  ;  the  country  round  about 
is  fairly  stocked  with  game ;  and  there  is 
water  in  abundance  —  somewhat  of  a  rare 
circumstance,  and,  rarer  still,  the  water  is 
sweet.  As  for  the  life  itself,  none  could 
be  more  attractive  to  him.  The  slabs  that 
Joshua  is  cutting  now  are  designed  for  a 
fence  round  their  homestead.  "  Even  if 
Blacks  come,"  thought  Rough-and-Ready 
"  and  they  are  not  inclined  to  be  friendly,  we 
may  frighten  them  away  with  our  guns." 
He  is  very  sparing  of  their  powder  and 
shot,  of  which  tliey  have  not  too  large  a 
store,  and  has  taught  his  companions  to 
make  and  lay  many  kinds  of  cunning  snares 
for  game.  He  is  a  thorough  bushman,  and 
in  his  present  circumstances  is  certainly 
the  right  man  in  the  right  place. 

The  character  of  Rachel  Homebush  ap- 
pears to  have   completely  changed.     The 


trials  she  has  gone  through  have  softened 
her  hitherto  hard  nature.  No  stony-voiced 
exhortations  to  repent  drop  from  her  lips  ; 
she  is  humanized  and  humbled.  But  a 
short  time  since  she  was  intolerant,  arro- 
gant, harsh,  and  proudly-insolent  in  her 
armor  of  sanctity ;  but  now  she  has  doffed 
that  armor,  and  has  inward  doubts  of  her- 
self She  believes  in  the  goodness  of  others. 
She  is  less  sanctified  and  more  godly. 

Said  Rough-and-Ready  to  Joshua,  when 
they  were  talking  of  the  women,  — 

''  Rachel  Homebush  is  a  different  crea- 
ture to  what  she  was.  She  is  not  so  good 
as  she  was,  and  I  think  she's  all  the  better 
for  it." 

Joshua  smiled  at  this  paradox,  and  said, — 

"  At  all  events  she  has  a  different  opin- 
ion of  you." 

"  Think  so,  mate  ?  "  asked  Rough-and- 
Ready,  a  little  anxiously.  "  I'm  sorry  for 
it,  in  one  way.  There's  only  one  woman  "  — 
But  he  paused  unaccountably  in  the 
middle  of  his  speech,  looked  at  Minnie,  who 
was  a  few  yards  away,  looked  at  Joshua, 
and  walked  off  whistling. 

Here  is  the  picture.  Two  liives,  bright 
with  flowering  creepers  ;  Rachel  and  Min- 
nie sitting  in  the  shadow  of  the  hives,  on 
stumps  of  trees,  making  fur  caps  ;  a  'pos- 
sum hanging  by  its  tail,  studying  gravita- 
tion ;  the  little  child,  not  far  away,  lying 
on  the  ground,  surrounded  by  wild  flowers, 
playing  with  her  pet ;  in  the  distance,  Joshua 
busy  with  his  axe  ;  surrounding  and  encom- 
passing all,  bright  sky  and  lovely  forest. 
Rachel,  raising  lier  eyes  from  her  work, 
looks  at  the  child  in  the  midst  of  her  gar- 
den, and  a  soft  expression  rests  upon  her 
face.  The  child  sees  the  look,  and  thrust- 
ing the  'possum  in  the  bosom  of  her  frock, 
runs  towards  Rachel  witli  a  handful  of  flow- 
ers. Rachel  kisses  the  child,  strokes  the 
silky  coat  of  the  'possum,  and  selecting  a 
piece  of  wild  jasmine,  places  it  in  her 
bi-east.  Then  Little  Emma  goes  to  the 
back  of  Minnie,  and  twines  some  of  the 
brightest  flowers  in  Minnie's  beautiful  hair ; 
and  after  falling  back  and  admiring  the 
effect  of  her  handiwork,  whispers  to  Min- 
nie to  get  up,  for  she  wants  to  show  her 
something.  Minnie  smiles  and  rises,  and 
they  walk  hand  in  hand  to  whe  a  Emma's 
wild  flowers  are,  but  the  child  leads  her 
farther  on,  in  the  direction  of  Joshua. 
Made  aware  of  the  child's  intention,  Min- 
nie falters,  and  tries  to  release  her  hand 
gently  ;  but  Little  Emma  clings  to  her,  and 
laughingly  strives  to  pull  her  along. 
Joshua's  attention  is  attracted  to  tlie  gen- 
tle struggle,  and,  coming  forward,  he  asks 
the  meaning  of  it.  The  child  explains 
that  she  wanted  Joshua  to  see  how  pretty 
the  flowers   looked   in   Minnie's  hair,  and 


BITTER  REVELATIONS. 


177 


that  Minnie  tried  to  run  away.  Joshua 
looks  at  Minnie,  who  stands  trembling 
before  him,  as  if  she  were  guiUy  of  some 
deep  offence.  Her  bosom  is  heaving,  her  eyes 
are  luminous  with  tears,  her  face  is  bright 
with  blushes,  and  the  ti!ll-tale  blood  dyes 
her  fair  neck.  Surely  lie  has  never  looked 
upon  a  more  beautiful  picture  I  He  says 
some  kind  words  to  her,  and  she  goes  back 
to  her  place  near  Rachel,  and  he  to  his 
work.  But,  within  a  few  minutes  after- 
wards, he  swings  his  axe  over  his  shoul- 
der, and  walks  away  in  deep  thought. 
The  bees  are  humming  about  him,  many- 
colored  locusts  and  golden-green  grasshop- 
pers flit  among  the  tangled  brushwood,  gor- 
geous butterflies  skim  through  the  air  ;  the 
gaudy  beetle  creeps  lazily  along ;  the  pray- 
ing mantis,  with  its  leaf-like  wings,  darts 
before  him ;  the  tree-frog  utters  its  strange 
cry ;  a  great  lizard,  with  a  frill  round  its 
neck,  disappears  at  the  sound  of  his  step. 
He  walks  past  these  and  myriad  other  won- 
ders of  the  woods,  until  the  character  of 
the  country  changes,  and  he  finds  himself 
among  rocky  gullies,  with  many  a  fissure 
in  the  stony  ranges  that  lead  down  to  them. 
The  buzz  of  woodland  life  has  ceased ; 
unfathomable  silence  seems  to  dwell  in  these 
rocky  hills  and  valleys.  But  suddenly  a 
sharp  shrill  note  sounds  upon  the  air.  It 
is  a  bird's  note,  but  no  mate's  voice  replies. 
It  is  like  himself,  solitary  in  the  midst  of 
this  ungracious  scene,  which  frowningly 
proclaims,  "  Love  finds  here  no  dwelling- 
place."  Again  the  note  sounds,  and  as  he 
makes  his  way  toward  it,  curious  to  see 
what  kind  of  bird  haunts  so  desolate  a 
place,  he  hears  a  fiunt  echo  answer  —  a 
voice  with  no  soul  in  it,  he  thinks  in  his 
then  melancholy  mood.  He  comes  to  the 
opening  of  a  small  cave,  the  walls  of  which 
assume  fantastic  shapes  in  the  dim  light. 
And  there,  uttering  its  wail,  to  which  only 
mocking  echoes  make  response,  he  sees  the 
Sohtary  AVarbler  standing  alone  in  the 
centre  of  the  cave,  like  the  Cain  of  its  race. 
He  sighs  and  walks  on  —  over  the  rocky 
range,  into  woodland  again,  where  the 
ground  dips,  and  where  the  rich  soil  is 
teeming  with  new  wonders  ;  and  coming  to 
a  great  pool,  he  sits  down  by  its  side.  He 
has  been  to  this  spot  before.  Chancing 
upon  it  by  accident  in  one  of  his  rambles, 
he  was  attracted  by  its  beauty,  and  by  the 
singular  effect  of  the  shifting  shadows  upon 
the  bosom  of  the  pool,  whose  surface  is  al- 
most covered  by  lovely  pink -and -white 
water-lilies.  He  looks  now  into  the  water, 
and  sees  his  haggard  face  reflected  between 
the  beautifully-colored  lilies.  And  sin- 
gularly enough  he  sees  at  the  same  time, 
with  the  eyes  of  his  mind,  the  picture  of 
Minnie  as  she  stood  before  him,  with  eyes 
n 


downcast  and  the  flowers  in  her  hair.  It 
is  because  he  was  disturbed  by  thought  of 
her  that  he  h^ft  his  work.  He  knows  her 
secret  but  too  well.  She  loves  him  with  all 
her  soul.  She  tells  it  in  every  look,  in 
every  word  ;  every  little  act  of  hers  towards 
him  is  imbued  with  dangerous  tenderness, 
and  yet  she  is  unconscious  of  wrong. 
Every  day  she  grows  more  devoted  —  every 
day  grows  more  beautiful.  And  it  is  a  part 
of  his  great  misery  to  feel  that  her  society 
gives  him  pleasure  as  well  as  pain.  He  is 
storm-tossed  by  a  conflict  of  feeling.  In  this 
conflict  no  miserable  vanity  finds  place,  al- 
though it  might  be  well  excused  in  most 
men  in  such  a  position  ;  nor  is  he  by  a 
thought  false  to  Ellen.  But  Minnie  is  de- 
pendent upon  him,  lives  upon  his  kindness, 
asks  nothing  from  him  but  gentle  speech. 
Shall  he  deny  her  this  ?  Shall  he  be  false 
to  his  nature,  and  be  harsh  where  harshness 
would  be  brutality  ?  He  is  strong ;  she  is 
weak.  Her  power  is  in  her  weakness  ;  his 
weakness  is  in  his  strength.  She  leans  upon 
him  for  support,  and  rules  by  submission. 

Something  stirs  behind  him.  A  sound 
so  light  that  it  might  have  been  produced 
by  the  fall  of  a  leaf  or  by  the  swaying  of  a 
bough  from  which  a  bird  has  flown.  Josh- 
ua, whose  senses  have  been  quickened  by 
his  late  experience,  turns  rapidly,  and  meets 
the  Lascar  face  to  face.  In  the  woods 
thought  and  action  are  twin-like.  Quick 
as  lightning  Joshua's  pistol  is  in  his  hand, 
and  the  muzzle  is  pointed  straight  at  the 
Lascar's  breast. 

"  Stand  !  "  cries  Joshua,  "  if  you  value 
your  life." 

The  Lascar  stands  motionless,  his  hands 
behind  him. 

"  Show  your  hands  and  what  is  in  them, 
or  I  fire." 

The  Lascar  shows  his  hands  —  a  large 
piece  of  rock  in  one.  He  had  seen  Joshua 
sitting  by  the  pool,  and  had  intended  to 
brain'' him  with  the  stone.  At  Joshua's 
command,  he  drops  the  stone.  A  bitter 
smile  wreathes  Joshua's  lips,  and  something 
like  a  savage  instinct  whispers  to  him  to 
shoot  his  enemy  dead  upon  the  spot.  But 
the  thought  that  it  would  be  nothing  less 
than  murder  restrains  him.  The  Lascar 
sees  the  struggle  in  Joshua's  face,  and  trem- 
bles ;  miserable  wretch  as  he  is,  he  has  not 
conquered  the  fear  of  death.  _  He  is  re-as- 
sured when  Joshua  drops  his  hand  and 
moves  away,  still  facing  him.  At  this,  fear 
being  subdued,  the  venom  in  his  nature 
begins  to  work.  Shall  he  let  his  enemy 
depart  without  a  sting?  He  commences 
with  a  piece  of  bravado. 

"  Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  have  robbed 
me,  but  you  can't  make  up  your  mind  to 
murder  me." 


178 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


"  Robbed  you  ! "  exclaims  Joshua,  for- 
getting for  a  moment.     "  Of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  my  knife.  Give  it  me  back.  I 
can't  hurt  you  with  it.  You  are  more  than 
a  matcli  for  me  with  your  pistols.  How  do 
you  think  I  can  live  without  a  knife  ?  " 

Joshua  makes  no  reply  to  this  appeal  to 
his  humanity,  and  moves  off  a  few  steps, 
warily. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  yourself  a  manly 
sort  of  fellow,"  continues  the  Lascar,  mov- 
ing step  for  step  with  Joshua,  but  keeping 
at  a  safe  distance  nevertheless,  "  robbiu'T 
people  of  their  knives,  threatening  to  mur- 
der them,  and  running  away  with  an  inno- 
cent girl,  and  ruining  her !  " 

"  You  villain  !  "  exclaims  Joshua,  quiver- 
ing at  this  reference  to  Minnie,  "do  not 
make  me  forget  myself  I  " 

"  So  far  as  to  shoot  a  man  in  cold  blood  ! " 
sneers  the  Lascar.  "  But  don't  forget  that 
the  first  time  you  struck  me  it  was  for  run- 
ning after  a  woman.  What  better  are  you 
than  me  ?  I  ran  after  a  woman,  not  an  in- 
nocent girl.  Perhaps  you'll  say  you  didn't 
trick  her  from  her  father's  house,  and  make 
love  to  another  girl,  her  friend,  all  the 
while,  and  that  girl  the  sister  of  the  man 
you  pretended  such  fondness  for  !  Going 
to  be  married  to  her  too,  I  heard.  But  I 
can  tell  you  something  you  don't  know. 
You  were  precious  sly  with  your  sweet- 
heart, Ellen  Taylor,  in  Gravesend ;  she 
wouldn't  suspect  you,  I  dare  say  you  thought, 
if  you  had  her  down  at  Gravesend  until  the 
ship  sailed  —  she  wouldn't  have  an  idea 
then  that  your  other  sweetheart,  Minnie 
Kindred,  with  her  face  stained  brown,  was 
waiting  for  you  on  board  the  '  Merry  An- 
drew.' Ah  !  you  played  a  cunning  game, 
you  pink  of  perfection,  j'ou  sailor-hero ;  but 
I  outwitted  you,  I  think,  in  a  way  you're 
not  aware  of." 

"  How  ?  "  asks  Joshua,  constrained  to 
listen. 

"  How  ?  I  watched  you,  and  was  paid 
for  it.  You  little  thought  that,  did  you  ? 
I'll  tell  you  something  more.  The  man 
who  paid  me  for  watching  had  a  fancy  for 
your  sweetheart  Ellen :  you've  no  need  to 
ask  me  who  he  is,  for  you'll  not  find  out 
through  me.  I  did  my  duty  to  him,  and  he 
paid  me  for  it.  Why,  directly  I  set  eyes  on 
that  brown-laced  gypsy-maid  aboard  the 
'.Merry  Andrew,'  I  says,  '  Minnie  Ivindred, 
by  God  !  '  and  I  set  a  trap  for  her,  and  she 
fell  into  it.  Then  what  did  I  do  ?  I  sent 
a  letter  to  my  master  by  the  pilot,  and  told 
him  to  go  to  Minnie  Kindred's  father,  and 
to  Dan,  and  to  your  mother  and  father,  and 
to  your  other  sweetheart,  Ellen,  and  let 
them  know  that  you  had  run  away  with  the 
girl,  and  that  you  parted  from  Ellen  Tay- 
lor one    niiiiute,  and  was  courting  Minnie 


Kindred  aboard  ship  the  next.  Was  that 
a  good  game  to  play  ?  Was  I  as  cunning 
as  you  ?  Was  that  paying  you  for  what 
you  first  did  to  me  ?  Do  you  remember 
what  I  said,  when  you  called  me  a  dog  of  a 
Lascar  ?  I  told  you  that  the  Lascar  do"' 
never  forgets  —  never,  never  !  Why,  now 
I  look  into  your  face,  I  could  hug  myself  to 
think  that  we're  wrecked,  and  tliat  we  shall 
die  and  rot  here,  every  one  of  us,  and  that 
your  sweetheart  (who's  my  master's  sweet- 
heart now,  I'll  be  sworn)  and  your  friends 
know  you  for  what  you  are  —  a  mean  false 
hound  I  I  put  a  cross  against  you  once, 
and  I  swore  to  have  your  heart's  blood. 
Have  I  had  as  good  ?  Think  of  it,  and  tell 
me  if  I  have  had  my  revenge." 

But  he  docs  not  wait  to  be  told.  There 
is  so  dangerous  a  look  in  Joshua's  face,  that 
he  darts  away  and  disappears  in  the  bush. 
It  is  well  for  him  that  he  has  escaped,  for 
Joshua  is  maddened  by  what  he  has  heard. 
Truly  the  Lascar  has  struck  at  him  with  a 
cunning  hand.  The  agony  of  his  soul  is 
shown  in  the  convulsive  twitching  of  his 
features,  in  his  white  lips,  and  in  the  veins 
of  his  strong  hand,  which  swell  almost  to 
bursting  as  he  grasps  a  stout  branch  for 
support.  So  he  remains  fighting  with  his 
agony  with  a  bleeding  heart,  for  full  half 
an  hour.  This  knowledge  that  he  has 
gained  is  more  bitter  than  all  the  rest.  He 
knows  the  worst  now.  The  evidence  against 
him  is  awful  in  its  completeness.  "  Even 
the  Old  Sailor  will  believe  me  guilty,"  he 
thinks,  and  groans  aloud  at  the  thought. 
But  there  is  one  duty  before  him  to  do.  He 
must  tell  Minnie.  This  last  resolve  comes 
upon  him  when  the  force  of  his  first  passion 
is  somewhat  spent.  Between  him  and  Min- 
nie no  word  has  ever  passed  of  those  at 
home ;  their  very  names  have  been  avoided. 
But  Joshua  now  makes  up  his  mind  that 
silence  on  this  subject  must  be  broken.  It 
muKt ;  both  for  Minnie's  sake  and  his  own. 

It  is  past  sundown.  The  day  has  been 
very  hot,  and  the  shadows  of  night  bring 
cooler  breezes,  grateful  to  the  senses  of  the 
castaways.  Joshua  has  drawn  Minnie  a 
little  apart  from  the  others ;  she,  yielding 
to  his  slightest  wish,  accompanies  him  to  a 
part  of  the  forest  where  they  can  talk  un- 
observed. His  first  impulse  is  to  ask  her 
why  she  came  on  board  the  "Merry  Andrew" 
unknown  to  him,  and  why  she  had  disguised 
herself  from  him  ;  but  he  spares  her  this 
pain,  and  takes  from  his  breast  Ellen's  por- 
trait and  her  lock  of  hair,  and  Dan's  Bible. 
He  hands  Minnie  the  Bible. 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  is  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  Yes,"  she  answers ;  "  it  is  the  Bible  that 
Dan  gave  you." 

"  Read  what  is  on  the  first  page." 

She  reads  the  inscription :  "  From  Dan  to 


BITTER  REVELATIONS. 


179 


his  dearest  friend  and  brother,  Joshua. 
Wilh  unilyint;  love  and  confidence." 

"  You  know  the  love  that  existed  between 
Dan  and  me,  Minnie  ?  " 

♦'  I  know.  It  is  perfect.  Why  do  you 
say  existed  ?     Surely  it  exists  !  " 

'"  I  don't  know ;  I'm  afraid  to  think. 
Your  words  are  in  some  sort  comforting 
to  me ;  for  they  prove  you  have  acted  in 
ignorance,  and  that  you  have  not  wilfully 
■wronged  me." 

She  looks  at  him  imploringly. 

"  I'ou  will  understand  presently,"  he  says. 

He  takes  Ellen's  lock  of  hair,  and  presses 
it  to  his  lips,  and  kisses  Ellen's  portrait  al- 
so. The  hot  blood  flushes  into  INIinnie's  face, 
then  suddenly  deserts  it,  and  she  clasps  her 
bands  convulsively.  She  is  but  woman,  after 
all.  Y''et  she  controls  her  agitation  suffi- 
ciently to  ask  in  an  unsteady  voice,  — 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  speak  further  of  this, 
Joshua  ?  " 

"  It  is  more  than  necessary,"  he  replies ; 
"  it  is  imperative.  My  duty  and  my  honor 
demand  it." 

She  bows  her  head ;  he  pauses  a  while, 
and  when  he  speaks  again,  it  is  in  a  softer 
tone. 

"  Minnie,  do  you  know  that  Dan  loved 
you  ?  " 

"  Loved  me  !  " 

"  Ay,  with  all  the  strength  of  his  constant 
heart." 

"  I  did  not  know  it.  I  thought  he 
liked  me,  but  I  had  no  idea  it  was  as  you 
say." 

"  He  told  me  in  confidence  some  time  be- 
fore I  left.  My  heart  bleeds  as  I  recall  that 
conversation.  No  girl  could  hope  to  be  more 
fondly,  more  faithlully  loved.  "\Mien  the 
'  Merry  Andrew '  left  Gravesend,  I  said  to  my- 
self, '  \Mien  I  return,  Minnie  will  be  Dan's 
wife,'  for  I  could  not  but  believe  that  you 
would  have  learned  to  appreciate  the  worth 
of  such  a  love  as  his.     But  it  was  not  to  be." 

"  No.  it  was  not  to  be,"  says  Minnie  sadly. 
"  If  I  had  known,  it  could  not  have  been  ; 
if  I  had  remained  at  home,  it  could  not  have 
been.  Y'^ou,  who  knew  Dan  so  well,  do  you 
not  know  something  of  me  also  ?  I  under- 
stand the  motive  that  impels  you  to  speak  to 
me  of  these  things,  and  I  honor  you  the  more 
for  it.  It  is  another  proof  of  your  goodness 
jind  generosity  "  — 

"  Minnie,  Minnie  !  "  he  cries,  "  do  not 
speak  to  me  like  that  1  " 

"I  must;  I  cannot  help  myself.  Have 
you  so  poor  an  opinion  of  me  —  do  you  know 
so  little  of  me  — as  to  think  I  would  marry 
a  man  I  did  not  love  ?  Rather  than  that,  I 
would  choose  for  him  I  loved  the  bitterest 
lot  that  liie  can  offer  —  misery,  shame,  hu- 
miliation —  and  be  content.  Dan  is  all  that 
you  say ;  but  I  did  not  love  him,  did  not  de- 


ceive him.  If  he  told  you  so,  he  told  you 
what  is  false." 

"  He  did  not  tell  me  so,  but  said  that  from 
your  manner  to  him  sometimes,  he  hoped  to 
win  your  love." 

"  Must  I  shame  myself  to  justify  myself  ?  " 
she  cries  recklessly.  "  I  was  happy  in  his 
company  because  he  was  your  friend,  and 
because  he  loved  you.  I  was  happy  in  his 
company  because  he  spoke  of  you,  and  be- 
cause —  Joshua,  have  pity  on  me  and  for- 
give me  1     O  my  heart,  my  heart !  " 

He  catches  her  fainting  form,  for  she  is 
falling.  Weeping,  she  turns  her  face  from 
him  and  hides  it  in  her  hair.  Soft  breezes 
play  among  the  branches  of  the  trees,  stir- 
ring them  into  worshipping  motion,  and  the 
more-poi'k,  with  its  sad-colored  plumage,  flits 
by  on  noiseless  wings,  uttering  his  melan- 
choly note.  Joshua  waits  until  ^Minnie  is 
more  composed  ;  presently  her  sobs  grow 
fainter  and  she  leaves  the  shelter  of  his  arm, 
and  stands  a  little  apart  from  him,  with  her 
face  still  averted. 

"  I  do  pity  you,"  he  then  says,  "  and  for- 
give you.  What  I  have  said  and  what  I 
have  done  springs  from  no  feeling  of  unkind- 
ness  to  you,  Minnie.  God  knows,  in  such  a 
strait  as  ours,  such  a  feeling  would  be  worse 
than  cruel.  But  there  are  certain  things  of 
which  I  am  afraid  you  are  ignorant,  that  I 
must  speak  of  and  that  you  must  hear.  Do 
you  know  that,  before  I  left  home,  I  was  sus- 
pected of  playing  with  your  feelings — of 
making  love  to  you  clandestinely,  and  so  be- 
traying the  friend  whom  I  would  have  laid 
down  my  life  to  serve  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Joshua,  do  not  tell  me  that !  " 

"  It  is  the  truth ;  but  I  did  not  know  it 
until  after  I  had  bidden  good-by  to  mother 
and  father  and  Dan,  in  Stepney.  "V^^lere 
were  you  on  that  day  ?  " 

'•I  —  I  was  not  at  home,"  she  falters. 

"  Y''ou  had  loft,  then.  I  Avent  to  ymxr 
father's  room  to  wish  you  and  him  good-by. 
He  refused  to  see  me.  I  asked  to  see  you, 
and  Susan  told  me  you  were  asleep.  I  was 
deeply  grieved  ;  and  I  can  understand  now 
what  caused  Susan  to  beg  me  imploringly  to 
be  true  to  Ellen.  What  a  cowardly  villain 
they  must  believe  me  to  be  !  Y'our  father 
suspected  me  ;  Susan  suspected  me.  If  I 
had  died  that  Christmas  night  at  mother's 
door,  it  would  have  been  happier  for  me ! 
Minnie  I  thanked  you  once  tor  saving  my 
life ;  but  I  cannot  'thank  you  now,  for  you 
have  made  me  the  unhappiest  of  men." 

She  does  not  answer  him,  but  stands  be- 
fore him  trembling  and  suffering,  as  before 
a  judge,  enduring  her  punishment  and  ad- 
mitting the  justice  of  it. 

"  It  is  part  of  my  unhappiness,"  he  con- 
tinues, "  that  I  have  to  speak  thus  to  you ; 
it  is  part  of  my  unhappiness  that  I  have  to 


180 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


show  you  the  consequences  of  your  rash 
conduct.  Listen:  To-day  I  saw  the  Las- 
car ;  he  came  behind  me  steahhily,  to  kill 
me,  I  believe  ;  but  I  turned  and  saw  him  in 
time.  I  could  have  shot  him  dead  where 
he  stood ;  indeed,  some  savage  prompting 
urged  me  to  do  so,  but  I  held  my  hand  and 
was  spared  the  crime.  This  man  hates  me, 
Minnie.  In  an  encounter  I  had  with  him 
before  I  fii-st  went  to  sea,  I  struck  him  and 
hurt  him.  He  has  had  a  bitter  revenge 
upon  me.  He  saw  you  on  board  the  '  Merry 
Andrew  '  before  the  pilot  left  the  ship,  and 
recognized  you,  despite  your  disguise." 

Minnie  holds  her  breath.  She  remem- 
bers how  the  Lascar  whispered  her  name  in 
her  ear  the  first  day  she  went  aboard. 

"  He  did  a  devilish  thing  then.  He  wrote 
a  letter  home,  saying  that  I  had  run  away 
with  you,  and  that  we  were  together  on 
board  the  '  Merry  Andrew.'  " 

She  falls  on  her  knees  before  him,  and 
raises  her  hands  supplicatingly,  and  begs 
him  again  to  ibrgive  her,  and  to  believe 
that  she  knew  nothing  of  this,  and  that  if 
she  had  known  — 

"If  you  had  known,  Minnie,"  he  says, 
"•ently  raising  her,  "you  would  not  have 
done  what  you  have.  But  you  did  not  stop 
to  consider,  poor  child  !  You  see  the  con- 
sequences of  that  letter,  do  you  not  ?  Sus- 
pecting me,  your  father  told  me  the  story 
of  his  life,  to  warn  me  not  to  betray  you. 
Suspecting  me,  Susan  implored  me  to  be 
true  to  Ellen.  Dan  confided  to  me  his 
love  for  you,  and  I  listened  to  and  sympa- 
thized with  him.  Well,  what  must  he  and 
all  of  them  think,  when  they  have  learned 
that  you  and  I  are  together  on  board  the 
*  Merry  Andrew '  ?  And  I  have  something  to 
tell  you  more  painful  than  all  the  rest." 

He  puts  Ellen's  portrait  into  her  hand. 

"Do  you  know  who  this  is  ?  " 

Her  eyes  are  blurred  by  tears,  and  she 
sees  Ellen's  sweet  face  through  the  sorrow- 
ful mist. 

"  It  is  Ellen's,"  she  says. 

"  It  is  my  wife  ! " 

As  Joshua  utters  these  words,  earth  and 
heaven  fade  in  Minnie's  sight;  nothing  is 
visible,  nothing  is  palpable  to  her  senses, 
but  the  knowledge  that  flashes  upon  her, 
that  her  love,  instead  of  being  her  glory,  is 
now  her  shame.  "  There  is  no  earthly  sac- 
rifice that  love  will  not  sanctify,"  her  fa- 
ther had  said.  Could  love  sanctify  such  a 
sacrifice  as  she  had  made  —  a  sacrifice  that 
had  brought  disgrace  and  dishonor  upon 
the  man  "she  loved  ?  For  the  first  time 
some  slight  consciousness  of  her  error 
breaks  upon  her,  and  she  looks  upon  her- 
self as  a  shameful  thing.  As  Joshua,  wit- 
nessing her  agony,  moves  a  step  nearer  to 
her,  she  cries,  "  No,  no,  do  not  touch  me  1  " 


and  with  a  wild  shudder  sinks  upon  the 
ground.  He,  animated  by  sincerest  com- 
passion, throws  himself  by  her  side,  lays 
his  hand  upon  her  head,  and  raises  her 
face  to  his.  She  bows  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  sobs  her  grief  out  there.  By 
every  means  in  his  power  —  by  gentle 
speech,  by  tender  act  —  he  strives  to  soothe 
her,  and  succeeds.  And  then,  true  to  his 
purpose,  he  finishes  his  story  —  tells  her 
what  occurred  between  him  and  the  Old 
Sailor  at  Gravesend  ;  how  surprised  he  was 
to  find  that  the  good  old  man,  and  even  his 
own  mother,  had  seen  Minnie's  fancy  for 
him,  and  had  devised  the  cure  for  it ;  and 
how,  prompted  by  duty  and  by  his  love  for 
Ellen  (he  dwelt  much  on  that),  he  had 
married  her  quietly  at  Gravesend,  and  had 
spent  there  the  three  happiest  days  of  his 
life.  And  when  his  story  is  finished,  and 
she  has  learned  all,  they  sit  hand  in  hand, 
very  quiet  and  sore-smitten,  until  Minnie, 
in  a  singularly-subdued  voice,  asks  what 
she  shall  do  :  as  if,  having  committed  this 
fault,  and  brought  such  terrible  suspicion 
upon  him,  he  has  only  to  tell  her  how  to 
atone  for  it,  and  she  will  straightway  do  it. 
Sadly  he  replies,  "  What  can  you  do,  Min- 
nie ?  Nothing  —  nothing  but  wait.  There 
is,  to  my  mind,  not  the  barest  chance  of  es- 
cape. We  shall  make  our  graves  in  this 
wild  forest ;  but  we  must  live  so  —  you  and 
I,  my  dear  —  that  upon  my  death-bed  I 
shall  be  able  to  think  that  I  have  been  true 
to  my  wife,  true  to  my  friend.  Life  is  not 
the  end  of  all  things." 

Meekly  she  assents.  He  calls  her 
"Sister,"  and  kisses  her;  and  then  they 
rejoin  their  companions,  who  are  seated  by 
the  gunyahs,  cooking  turtles'  eggs  found  by 
Rough-and-Ready,  the  discoverer. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

SURPRISED   BY   SAVAGES. 

The  wisdom  of  Rough-and-Ready's  plan 
of  action  was  soon  proved.  One  night, 
thunder  awoke  them  from  sleep.  The 
thunder  that  breaks  over  the  housetops, 
and  the  lightning  that  flashes  in  at  the 
window-panes  of  a  populous  city,  are  very 
diflerent  from  what  are  heard  and  seen  in 
mountain  ranges  and  great  wastes  of  for- 
ests. Nature  seems  to  be  toned  down  in 
the  city  ;  in  the  forests  and  mountains  she 
is  grandly  beautiful  in  repose,  terrifically 
beautiful    in    travail.     The  thunder-peala 


SURPRISED  BY  SAVAGES. 


181 


•were  so  loud  and  awful,  that  the  women 
and  child  lay  claspinp;  each  other  in  speech- 
less fear.  Like  savage  Titans  the  sound 
swept  down  upon  them,  and  rushed  through 
the  forests  and  over  the  mountains  and  into 
them  in  search  of  echoes.  Tlie  lightning 
darted  upon  the  trees,  and  ran  along  the 
branches,  and  leaped  through  the  woods  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth.  Every  thing  that 
lived  in  stream  and  woodhmd,  in  rocky 
range  and  dark  lagoon,  sought  shelter  from 
thestorm,  of  which  Sound  was  but  the 
herakl.  Presently  it  came,  the  swift  rush 
of  waters,  like  a  second  deluge,  filling  the 
creeks  and  rivers,  and  Hooding  all  the  land. 
Great  torrents  rushed  down  the  mountain- 
side into  the  low  land,  sweeping  all  before 
them.  The  storm  raged  the  whole  night 
through,  abating  slightly  when  morning 
dawned.  It  was  well  for  the  castaways 
that  they  had  a  little  food  stored  by,  tor 
they  could  not  go  out  in  search  of  any. 
The  second  night  the  women  begged  the 
men  to  stay  with  them  :  so  they  all  occupied 
the  women's  gunyah,  lying  side  by  side  in 
the  dark,  and  whispering  to  each  other  lit- 
tle words  of  comfort.  All  but  Rachel 
Homebush,  who  was  struck  dumb  by  fear. 
The  second  night's  storm  was  more  terrific 
than  the  first,  and  about  midnight  so  tre- 
mendous a  peal  of  thunder  broke  over  them, 
that  they  started  up  in  dread. 

"  Who  screamed  ?  "  asked  Rough-and 
Ready.  But  his  voice  was  not  heard ;  and 
swift  upon  the  heels  of  the  thunder  another 
vivid  lightning-flash,  instantly  followed  by 
a  terrific  burst  of  thunder,  darted  thi-ough 
the  gunyah,  and  struck  them  olind  for 
many  moments.  Then,  during  a  slight  lull, 
Rough-and-Ready  asked  again,  — 

"  Who  screamed  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  said  Joshua. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  sailmaker. 

The  women  did  not  speak.  Joshua's 
heart  beat  with  a  new  fear  as  he  whis- 
pered, — 

"  Minnie  !  INIinnie  !  speak  to  me.  You 
are  not  hurt  ?  " 

And  tears  of  thankfulness  came  into  his 
eyes  as  Minnie  answered  in  a  trembling 
voice,  — 

"  No,  Joshua ;  I  am  only  frightened.  Let 
me  hold  your  hand." 

"  Where's  the  child  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Rachel  has  her.     Rachel !  Rachel !  " 

No  voice  replied.  Thoroughly  alarmed, 
they  called  to  her  again  and  again,  and  to 
the  child,  but  could  not  rouse  them.  They 
were  in  the  deepest  darkness. 

Presently  Rough  -  and  -  Ready  said, 
"  Hush  !  we  must  wait  for  the  light." 

They  waited  for  the  light,  and  by  the 
first  faint  glimmer  they  saw  Rachel  and  the 
child   lying  down   peacefully,  the  woman 


with  the  child  folded  in  her  arms.  Light 
had  come  to  them  before  the  others  I 

Rough-and-Ready,  who  was  the  first  to 
discover  it,  turned  to  his  companions,  with 
the  tears  streaming  down  his  face  and 
beard. 

"  Comfort  her"  he  said  to  Joshua,  point- 
ing to  Minnie. 

Joshua  put  his  arm  round  Minnie  and 
turned  her  fape  from  where  the  woman  and 
child  lay. 

"  Poor  Rachel !  Poor  Little  Emma  !  " 
he  said.  "  Be  brave,  Minnie,  my  dear.  Do 
not  give  way,  for  my  sake." 

He  knew  what  words  to  utter  to  give  her 
strength  to  bear  the  shock,  and  he  made  use 
of  his  power  with  a  wise  compassion. 

Her  poor  white  lips  trembled  as  she  said 
to  him,  — 

"  Pray  for  one  thing  for  me,  Joshua. 
Pray  that  I  may  not  die  before  I  have  made 
atonement." 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  dear  !  "  he  replied  ; 
"  there  is  none  to  make.  It  is  I  who  rather 
should  have  to  make  it,  for  my  hardness  to 
you.     Be  comforted,  my  dear." 

The  words  came  from  his  heart.  He 
would  have  been  unfeeling  indeed  if  he  had 
not  learned  to  appreciate  the  beautiful  un- 
selfishness of  ISliunie's  love ;  her  meekness, 
her  faithfulness,  her  devotion,  her  unmur- 
muring submission,  could  not  fail  to  have 
a  powerful  effect  upon  such  a  nature  as 
his. 

The  men  went  into  their  gunyah,  and 
before  night  came  again  had  made  a  rouah 
coffin  of  bark.  The  next  morning  they  dug 
a  grave,  and  stood  round  it  bareheaded, 
while  the  rain  was  fallins.  They  kissed 
the  child's  face  and  poor  Rachel's  also  be- 
fore the  cover  was  put  on  the  rude  coffin. 
Amid  deep  sobs  —  the  men  were  not 
ashamed  of  their  tears  —  Joshua  read  pray- 
ers ;  some  vine-creepers  were  thrown  into 
the  grave ;  the  earth  was  piled  up  into  a 
mound  :  and  they  went  back  sadly  to  their 
tent.  The  loss  of  some  one  very  near  and 
dear  to  them  could  not  have  been  more 
severely  felt.  From  that  time  forth  it  be- 
came a  practice  for  Joshua  to  read  a  chap- 
ter out  of  the  Bible  every  morning  and 
evening. 

The  rainy  season  lasted  for  three  weeks, 
and  during' this  lime  they  lived  very  mis- 
erably. Minnie  thrived,  however  —  per- 
haps "because  Joshua  was  tender  to  her. 
The  hot  weather  came,  and  they  were  able 
to  go  in  search  of  food.  But  Minnie  was 
never  left  alone.  Joshua  and  she  wQre 
waiting  one  evening  for  the  return  of 
Rougl>and-Ready  and  the  sailmaker,  but 
Rough-and-Ready  came  back  without  his 
companion.  He  looked  round  in  some 
anxiety. 


182 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


"  Hasn't  the  sailmaker  returned  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Joshua ;  "  you  went  out  to- 
gether." 

"  I  know  ;  but  I  missed  him  a  couple  of 
hours  ago,  and  although  I  have  searched 
for  him  and  coo-eed  for  him  everywhere,  I 
haven't  been  able  to  find  him." 

The  sailmaker  did  not  make  his  appear- 
ance. To  the  surprise  of  his  companions, 
Rough-and-Ready,  after  dark,  fired  half  a 
dozen  shots  from  his  pistol  into  the  air. 

"  You  look  surprised,"  he  said ;  "  well, 
now  "  (to  Minnie),  "  can  you  bear  a  shock  V 
Will  you  promise  to  be  brave  if  I  tell  you 
something  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"It  is  only  something  that  I  have  been 
e^pecting.  I  think  that  the  sailmaker  is 
wilh  the  natives." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Joshua. 

"  For  good  reasons.  I  saw  some  tracks 
of  them  when  I  was  hunting  for  Tom. 
Perhaps  they  have  captured  him." 

"  lie  had  his  pistols." 

"  Frightened  to  use  them,  perhaps  ;  or 
perhaps  there  were  a  lot  of  the  Blacks,  and 
he  thought  it  would  bo  foolish  and  useless. 
Besides  he  is  new  to  them.  He's  all  right, 
thou'/h ;  they  won't  hurt  him,  for  he's  a 
plucky  fellow.  Now,  mind.  When  you 
first  see  the  natives,  and  indeed  always 
after  that,  show  no  fear  of  them.  What  I 
am  going  to  say  is  to  my  mind  a  most  fool- 
ish thing ;  but  thei'e's  the  faintest  chance  in 
the  world  that,  making  friends  with  them, 
you  might  make  your  way  down  south, 
from  one  tribe  to  another,  in  a  few  months, 
and  come  upon  some  cattle  station.  But, 
lord  !  there's  one  chance  for  you,  and  a 
hundred  against  you." 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  you '  ?  "  asked  Min- 
nie.    '• '  We,'  rather." 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  Rough-and-Ready 
with  a  blush.  "  I  have  two  reasons  for 
saying  you  and  not  we.  The  first  reason 
is  not  a  reason  —  it  is  a  presentiment.  I 
shall  die  in  the  bush.  The  second  reason 
is  a  plainer  one.  It  wouldn't  be  pleasant 
for  me  to  get  into  civilized  company  in  New 
South  Wales." 

" AVhy  ?  " 

Rough-and-Ready  looked  at  her  with 
admiration,  and  said,  very  inappropriately, 
as  she  thought,  — 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  have  made  me  a 
better  man  V  " 

"  A  better  man ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  you  are  a  good  man,  and  a  brave 
man.  too." 

"  You  think  so.  So  let  it  be,"  he  said, 
half  seriously,  half  gayly.  "  I'm  not  going 
to  spoil  your  delusion  just  yet." 

They  saw  no  signs  of  the  savages  that 
night.     They  did  not  retire  until  late,  and 


Rough-and-Ready  went  many  times  short 
distances  in  different  directions  to  look  for 
the  natives,  but  they  did  not  appear. 
Joshua  took  out  his  accordion  and  played. 
Rough-and-Ready  listened  thoughtfully, 
and  when  Joshua  had  finished  an  air,  he 
said,  — 

"  I  told  you,  when  we  first  came  ashore 
here,  that  there  is  no  surer  way  to  frighten 
the  blacks  than  through  their  superstitions 
fears.  Your  playing  to-night,  connected 
with  the  near  presence  of  the  savages, 
brings  that  remark  back  to  me ;  and  I'll 
tell  you  why.  That  music  of  jours  may 
possibly  be  a  great  power  with  them.  They 
have  never  heard  any  thing  like  it.  K  you 
don't  lose  your  self-possession  when  you  get 
among  them  —  and  you  must  take  care  not 
to,  for  Minnie's  sake ;  her  life  may  depend 
upon  your  corn-age  —  you  may  obtain  an 
influence  over  them  by  means  of  your 
accordion.  Sound  for  which  they  cannot 
account  has  a  wonderful  effect  upon  them. 
Here  you  have  it.  Don't  forget  what  I  say. 
Come,  now,  I  can  hear  no  sign  of  the  black 
devils.  You  take  some  rest.  I'll  wake 
you  in  a  couple  of  hours. 

So  they  watched  in  turns  dm-ing  the 
night. 

"  What  is  the  best  thing  to  do,"  asked 
Joshua  the  following  evening,  "when  the 
savages  come  ?  —  to  make  friends  with 
them,  or  try  to  frighten  them  ?  " 

"  There  are  too  few  of  us  to  fight,"  an- 
swered Rough-and-Ready.  "We  might 
frighten  them  for  a  time,  but  they  would 
be  sure  to  come  back  in  larger  numbers. 
Then  we  haven't  too  much  powder  and 
shot  left.  No ;  the  best  and  wisest  course 
will  be  to  be  friendly  with  them,  if  possi- 
ble. I  have  heard  of  white  men  living  with 
them  for  many  years.  I  saw  an  English- 
man myself  once  who  had  been  with  them 
for  five  years.  He  was  glad  enough  to  get 
away  from  them ;  but  they  treated  him 
kindly,  he  said.  One  man,  whom  I  never 
saw,  lived  with  them  for  thirty  years.  His 
name  is  Buckley,  and  he  is  living  now." 

"Do  you  know  any  thing  of  his 
story  V " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  little  I  know.  He 
was  a  bricklayer  in  Cheshire  —  came  from 
Macclesfield,  I've  heard.  A  great  big 
hulking  lazy  fellow  he  was  —  brick-making 
was  too  hard  work  for  liim,  so  he  enlisted 
as  a  grenadier.  A  fine  grenadier  he  must 
have  looked  —  he  was  six  feet  six  inches  in 
his  stockings.  But  grenadiering  didn't  sat- 
isfy his  wants.  He  was  a  natural  vagabond 
like  myself,  and  he  got  into  trouble,  and 
was  sentenced  to  transportation.  So  he 
and  three  or  four  hundred  other  natural 
and  unnatural  vagabonds,  being  deemed 
fine  material  for  the  purpose,  were  sent  out 


SURPRISED  BY   SAVAGES. 


183 


to  form  a  colony.  Buckley  and  his  mates 
■were  put  ashore  at  Port  Phillip ;  but  the 
governor,  whose  name  was  Collins,  liked 
the  place  as  little  as  the  convicts,  and  he 
moved  them  oil"  to  Van  Dieman's  Land. 
Then  they  began  to  talk  of  escapin;jj.  They 
didn't  know  any  thina;  of  the  interior  of  the 
country;  but  they  tliought,  j)erhaps,  that 
any  thing  was  better  than  the  devil's  life 
they  led  as  convicts.  Buckley  got  away 
■with  two  mates,  of  whom  nothing  more  was 
ever  heard.  About  twelve  months  alter  he 
escaped,  he  fell  in  with  the  natives,  and 
lived  with  them  for  more  than  thirty  years. 
During  the  whole  of  that  time  he  never 
saw  a  white  man.  At  length  he  heard 
from  the  tribe  he  was  living  with,  that  some 
men  with  skins  the  same  color  as  his  had 
been  seen  within  a  few  miles  of  the  native 
camp.  They  belonged  to  a  band  of  ex- 
plorers headed  by  a  man  named  Batman. 
Buckley  went  in  search  of  them,  and  pre- 
sented himself  to  them.  You  can  imagine 
■what  a  sensation  he  created  ;  a  white  giant, 
who  had  forgotten  how  to  speak  English, 
with  native  weapons  hung  round  his  body, 
and  a  kangaroo-skin  rug  his  only  clothing. 
He  soon  picked  up  a  bit  of  English,  and 
was  taken  to  a  white  settlement,  where  he 
was  made  a  pet  and  a  wonder  of  He 
nii"ht  have  done  good  service  lor  the  white 
people  with  the  natives,  for  they  say  he  has 
great  intluence  with  them.  But  my  opin- 
ion of  him  is,  that  he  is  a  lazy,  skulking 
thief,  and  that  living  with  the  savages, 
where  he  hadn't  to  work  for  his  food,  just 
suited  him.  I  expect  that  some  part  of  his 
influence  over  them  was  produced  by  his 
tremendous  height  and  big  limbs.  How- 
ever, he  is  among  the  whites  again,  with  a 
free  pardon  granted  him,  I've  heard,  and 
earning  his  living  as  he  has  earned  it  all 
his  life  —  by  doing  nothing." 

During  the  recital  of  this  story,  which 
Eough-and-Ready  declared  was  veracious, 
every  word  of  it,  he  was  busy  baking  a 
fresh-water  turtle,  which  he  had  caught 
that  day  while  he  was  fishing  in  a  lagoon. 
The  turtle  was  baked  in  its  shell,  and  they 
made  a  delicious  supper  off  it.  They  had 
arranged  to  fish  for  eels  that  night,  and 
Rough-and- Ready  said, — 

"  iCome  along  ;  it's  of  no  use  being  fright- 
ened by  thinking  of  the  natives ;  we  must 
get  accustomed  to  them.  We  shall  soon 
see  them,  and  Tom  with  tliem." 

They  took  all  their  fii-e-arms.  Minnie 
had  two  pistols  in  her  belt,  and  Joshua  and 
Rough-and-Ready,  besides  pistols,  had  guns 
slung  across  their  shoulders.  Each  of  them 
wore  a  cap  made  of  the  beautiful  fur  of  the 
sugar-squirrel.  They  walked  through  the 
quiet  wood,  looking  sharply  about  them  as 
they  went  along,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw 


any  signs  of  the  natives.  When  they  came 
to  the  lagoon,  Rough-and-Ready  tuld  them 
he  was  going  to  show  them  a  line  way  of 
catching  eels  without  trouble.  He  had 
his  lire-sticks  with  him,  and  in  half  an  hour 
he  had  a  great  fire  blazing  by  the  side 
of  the  lagoon.  Attracted  by  the  light,  the 
eels  came  swarming  towards  them  ;  and  in  a 
very  short  time  they  caught  as  uuuiy  as  they 
desired.  Loaded  with  their  spuil,  they 
made  their  way  back  to  their  gunyahs; 
and  as  they  got  near  them,  they  saw  a  dark 
figure  glide  swiftly  away  from  the  spot  into 
the  bush. 

"  A  native,"  said  Rough-and-Ready. 
"  We  must  look  out  to-night." 

"  Or  Scadbolt,  or  the  Lascar,  do  you 
think  ?  "  suggested  Joshua,  supporting  Min- 
nie, who  was  clinging  to  him  in  alarm. 

"  No  ;  a  white  man  couldn't  move  away 
with  such  a  cat-like  motion.  I  fancy  I  saw 
his  dark  skin." 

Thereupon  Rough-and-Ready,  for  the 
purpose  of  familiarizing  Minnie  with  the 
idea  of  living  with  the  savages,  and  so  less- 
ening her  fears,  commenced  talking  of 
them,  and  continued  talking  for  a  couple 
of  horn's.  By  which  time  Minnie's  fears 
really  loere  lessened. 

"  What  a  nmuber  of  stars  have  fallen  the 
last  few  nights  remarked  Joshua. 

"  Ah,  you  have  noticed  that  1 "  said 
Rough-and-Ready.  "  And  if  you  observe, 
they  have  fallen  immediately  over  this 
spot,  in  the  direction  of  the  sea.  Well,  those 
shooting-stars  may  have  brought  the  na- 
tives here  ;  for  although  some  tribes  believe 
that  danger  lies  where  stars  fall,  or  that 
they  indicate  the  direction  of  hostile  tribes, 
others  have  a  kind  of  belief  that  a  great 
and  good  spirit  may  be  seen  where  they 
fall.  They  believe  that  there  is  a  new  sun 
every  day  and  a  new  moon  every  night, 
One  tribe  throws  up  the  sun  at  daybreak, 
and  another  tribe  catches  it  at  sunset." 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  cries  of 
fear,  and  by  the  running  towards  them  of 
some  person  who  fell  at  their  feet  trem- 
bling and  grovelling.  It  was  the  Lascar, 
who  was  evidently  in  a  state  of  horrible 
fright.  He  looked  more  like  a  wild  beast 
than  a  man.  What  few  clothes  he  had  on 
were  torn  and  tattered,  his  nails  were  long, 
and  his  disordered  hair  and  grovelling  fears 
deprived  his  features  of  any  likeness  to  hu- 
manity. 

"  The  savages,  the  savages,"  he  cried. 

He  had  chosen  what  he  considered  the 
lesser  of  two  evils  ;  his  white  foes  were  pref- 
erable to  black  cannibals.  Rough-and- 
Ready  looked  down  upon  him  contemptu- 
ously, and  touched  him  with  his  toot. 

"  The  cowardly  rufhan  !  "  he  said.  "  I'd 
sooner  trust  the  Blacks  than  such  as  he. 


184 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


Where's  his  rascally  mate,  I  wonder  —  Get 
up !  "  he  cried,  and  administered  so  smart  a 
kick  to  the  prostrate  wretch  that  he  jumped 
up  on  the  instant,  imploring  mercy. 

"  Be  silent,  you  chattering  imp  of  dark- 
ness !  "  roared  Rough-and- Ready  ;  "  be  si- 
lent, and  answer  me.  You've  seen  the 
Blacks,  I  sujjpose  ?  " 

The  Lascar  muttered  an  affirmative. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  frightened  at  ? 
Why  don't  you  go  and  make  friends  with 
them?  They  haven't  muchthe  advantage 
of  you  in  color,  and  you  are  more  of  a  wild 
beast  than  they  are.  Frightened  of  being 
eaten,  eh?  Faugh  !  they'd  spear  you  and 
throw  you  away ;  you're  not  good  enough 
even  for  them."  The  Lascar  trembled  the 
more  at  this  ;  he  was  a  true  coward.  "  AVliat 
d'ye  think  of  mutineering  now,  eh  ?  Answer 
me,  you  copper-coloi-ed  devil,  or  I'll  make 
an  end  of  you  —  where's  yom*  mate.  Scad- 
bolt  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  haven't  seen  him  for 
days. 

"  Ah,  two  of  a  trade  never  agree.  I 
thought  you'd  be  cutting  each  other's 
throats.  Captain  Marvel,  here's  one  of 
your  crew  who  tried  to  raise  a  mutiny.  As 
if  that  was  not  enough,  he  has  murdered 
his  mate."  (It  is  a  fact  that  Scadbolt  was 
never  heard  of  again,  nor  was  any  thing 
ever  known  of  his  fate.)  "  Now  then,  you, 
as  captain  of  the  'Merry  Andrew,'  pro- 
nounce judgment —  death,  nothing  less  — 
and  I'll  take  him  away  and  execute  it,  as 
truly  as  I'm  a  living  man  I  " 

There  was  something  so  determined  in 
Rough-and-Ready's  speech,  and  something 
so  threatening  in  his  action,  that  the  Las- 
car leaped  away  in  mortal  fear.  Whereat 
Rough-and-Ready  laughed  loud  and  long, 
and  fired  a  shot  in  the  air  to  frighten  the 
Lascar  the  more. 

In  the  morning,  while  they  were  at  break- 
fast, two  savages  suddenly  made  their  ap- 
pearance, about  twenty  yards  fi'om  where 
they  were  sitting.  They  appeg,red  so  sud- 
denly, that  they  seemed  to  have  started 
out  of  the  ground. 

"  Now,  Minnie,"  said  Rough-and-Ready 
quietly,  "  don't  scream  out,  and  don't  show 
any  alarm.  By  the  look  of  those  fellows 
they  are  friendly,  and  do  not  mean  to  harm 
us." 

Minnie  conquered  her  fears  bravely,  al- 
though her  heart  was  beating  fast,  and  by 
the  direction  of  Rough-and-Ready  they 
went  on  with  their  breakfast,  to  all  appear- 
ance quite  unconcerned,  and  as  if  the  pres- 
ence of  the  savages  was  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world.  The  two  men  who 
stood  gazing  at  them  were  naked,  with  the 
exception  of  a  girdle  of  emeu-feathers  round 
their  waists ;  their  color  was  pale  black ; 


they  were  tall,  with  thin  limbs  and  fine 
chests,  and  their  hair  was  thick  and  curly. 
They  had  spears  in  their  hands,  about  seven 
feet  long,  made  from  the  stem  of  the  tea- 
tree. 

Seeing  that  they  stood  quite  quiet, 
Rough-and-Ready  held  up  part  of  an  eel 
towards  them,  and  smiled,  and  nodded  his 
head  gently.  Whereupon  the  two  savages 
looked  at  each  other,  said  a  few  words,  and 
disappeared.  Both  Joshua  and  Mmnie 
drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  for  which  Rough- 
and-Ready  was  inclined  to  be  cross  with 
them. 

"  They  will  be  back  presently,"  he  said, 
"  in  company." 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  less  than 
half  an  hour  the  two  who  had  first  present- 
ed themselves  returned  with  nearly  a  score 
of  others.  To  the  joy  of  the  castaways, 
they  saw  Tom  the  sailmaker  in  the  rear, 
and  they  nodded  and  smiled  at  him.  See- 
ing that  the  savages,  who  had  been  jabber- 
ing among  themselves,  made  signs  to  the 
sailmaker ;  and  after  the  display  of  much 
pantomime,  he  came  towards  his  mates. 
They  shook  hands  with  him,  and  Rough- 
and-Ready  asked  him  how  he  was. 

"Jolly,"  he  replietl.  He  told  them  in 
crisp  sentences,  all  of  them  in  answer  to 
Rough-and-Ready's  questions,  that  the  na- 
tives seemed  disposed  to  be  friendly,  and 
that  they  were  not  half  so  bad  as  they 
looked. 

Rough-and-Ready,  accompanied  by  Tom, 
then  walked  half  a  dozen  yards  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  savages,  and  held  out  his 
hands  to  them.  Tom  looked  at  the  savages, 
touched  Rough-and-Ready  on  the  breast, 
and  then  himself,  with  sufficiently  expres- 
sive pantomime,  to  denote,  "  We  two  are 
one."  Minnie  and  Joshua  stood  in  the 
background,  side  by  side,  with  linked  arms. 
The  savages,  coming  a  little  nearer,  point- 
ed to  them,  and  jabbered  unintelligibl}',  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  What  do  you  do  here  ? 
Who  are  you  ?  "  Joshua,  observing  the  suc- 
cess of  Rough-and-Ready's  pantomime, 
touched  Minnie  on  the  breast,  and  then 
himself,  conveying  the  same  meaning,  "  We 
two  are  one." 

Here  it  must  be  told  that  Minnie  had  re- 
gained her  naturally  fair  complexion,  and 
that  her  hair,  also  fair,  had  grown  to  a 
great  length.  Tall  and  well-formed,  with 
bare  arms  beautifully  shaped,  with  pure 
complexion,  with  dreamy  eyes,  with  long 
hair  hanging  loosely  down,  and  with  the 
charm  and  grace  of  youth  upon  her,  she 
stood  before  them  in  her  strange  dress  of 
civilized  cotton  and  woodland  fur  ;  and  her 
singularly-beautiful  appearance  had  a  pow- 
erful efi'ect  on  the  savages.  They  ap- 
proached Rough-and-Ready,  and  felt  his 


SURPRISED  BY   SAVAGES. 


185 


clothes,  and  made  friends  with  him  in  their 
primitive  fashion ;  but  tliey  kt'j)t  some  dis- 
tance from  Josliua  and  Minnie,  rey,arding 
her  with  looks  of  reverence  and  astonish- 
ment. Presently,  after  much  grimacing 
and  flashing  of  hands  and  fingers,  Rough- 
and-Ready  came  towards  Minnie,  and,  to 
her  surprise,  bowed  low  before  her,  and 
stood  in  an  attitude  of  respectful  worship. 
The  savages,  who  were  watching  him  atten- 
tively, saw  only  his  back ;  but  if  they  had 
seen  the  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  they 
would  have  been  as  puzzled  as  Minnie  was. 

"  I've  heard  say  that  every  woman  is  an 
actress,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  Prove  your- 
self one  now,  for  all  our  sakes,  by  not  mov- 
ing, and  by  listening  to  me  attentively. 
Your  conduct  may  decide  our  fate.  I  ha^  e 
told  you  what  significance  the  natives  at- 
tach to  shooting  -  stars,  and  how  they 
either  avoid  the  direction  in  which  they  fall 
or  are  impelled  there  by  some  powerful 
superstition.  Fortune  has  favored  us.  I 
don't  understand  a  single  word  these  sav- 
ages utter;  but  I  understand  from  their 
actions  that  they  are  so  amazed  at  your 
appearance  as  to  entertain  a  belief  that  you 
are  not  quite  mortal  —  that,  in  fact,  you 
are  a  superior  spirit.  If  they  can  be  kept 
in  this  belief  (supposing  they  entertain  it), 
it  will  be  of  immense  service  to  us.  If  you 
are  brave  enough  not  to  show  fear,  they 
will  almost  be  certain  not  to  attempt  to 
harm  us." 

No  better  speech  could  have  been  spo- 
ken to  Minnie  to  inspire  her  with  confidence 
and  courage.  But  she  turned  to  Joshua 
first,  and  asked,  "  Shall  I  do  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  think  it  will  be 
well,  if  you  can  nerve  yourself  to  it." 

Smiling  at  the  "  if,"  she  said  softly,  "  For 
your  sake,  Joshua,"  and  then,  with  queen- 
ly motion,  walked  towards  the  savages, 
conquering  her  disgust  at  their  appearance. 
They  awaited  her  approach  ;  and  when  she 
was  within  a  few  steps  of  them,  an  old 
graybeard  came  forward,  and  held  out  his 
hands,  saying  some  words  expressive  of  re- 
spectful welcome.  Minnie  understood  as 
much  by  his  expressive  action.  She  touched 
his  hands,  and  waved  hers,  biddin<T  them 
welcome,  and  beckoning  to  Joshua,  touched 
him  on  the  breast,  and  placed  her  hand 
upon  his  shoulder.  Then,  smiling  placidly 
upon  the  dusky  group,  she  walked  away 
with  Joshua,  and  sat  down  in  the  shade  of 
the  gunyah.  Whatever  meaning  her  panto- 
mime had  conveyed,  it  evidently  excited 
great  interest  among  the  savages.  They 
conversed  earnestly  and  excitedly,  and 
pointed  to  the  sky  and  to  the  earth,  describ- 
ing by  their  motions  the  action  ot  a  star 
falling  gently  to  the  ground. 

"  Bravely  done,"  said  Rough-and-Ready 


to  Minnie.  "  Whatever  notion  they  have 
in  their  heads,  it  is  one  that  will  do  us  no 
harm.  See,  they  are  moving  off,  taking 
the  sailmaker  with  them." 

And,  indeed,  the  natives  went  away  in 
a  body,  leaving  behind  them  four  u\'  their 
party,  however,  who  squatted  upon  the 
ground,  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  cast- 
aways. 

"  They  are  left  to  watch  us,"  said  Rough- 
and-Ready  ;  "  but  I  think  we  may  make 
ourselves  easy  about  their  being  disposed 
to  be  friendly. 

He  and  Joshua  went  about  their  pursuits 
as  usual ;  but  to  keep  up  the  fiction  con- 
cerning Minnie  with  the  natives  who  were 
watching  them,  they  would  not  allow  her 
to  work,  and  treated  her  with  such  marks 
of  deference  as  could  not  fail  to  impress 
the  savages.  During  the  day,  Rough-and- 
Ready  offered  food  to  the  savages,  who  ac- 
cepted it.  To  show  their  gratitude,  two 
of  them  went  away  into  the  forest,  and  re- 
turned with  a  quantity  of  honey  in  a  reed 
basket,  which  they  placed  at  Minnie's  feet, 
and  which  she  partook  of  to  their  evident 
satisfaction. 

"  There  isn't  the  slightest  mistake,"  said 
Rough-and-Ready  merrily,  "  that  the  devil 
isn't  half  so  black  as  he  is  painted." 

They  were  left  apparently  undisturbed 
for  two  days,  when  the  natives  returned, 
with  different  descriptions  of  food  —  sweet 
roots  many  of  them,  pleasant  and  good  to 
eat.  "  They  have  some  plan  in  their 
heads,"  said  Rough-and-Ready.  He  was 
right.  Early  the  next  morning  the  natives 
gave  them  to  understand  that  they  were 
going  farther  inland,  and  that  the  white 
people  were  to  accompany  them.  "  Now 
we  shall  see  something,"  observed  Rough- 
and-Ready  as  they  plunged  into  the  for- 
est. They  walked  for  three  days  before 
they  came  to  the  native  camp.  They  made 
short  stages  to  accommodate  Minnie.  Dur- 
ing this  time,  Minnie  kept  close  to  Joshua, 
as  if  to  protect  him  ;  but  Rough-and-Ready 
mixed  freely  with  the  natives,  and  made 
some  snares  for  game,  which  he  gave  to 
them,  and  with  which  they  were  much 
pleased.  When  they  were  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  camp  a  number  of  the  tribe, 
chiefly  women  and  children,  came  out  to 
meet  them.  Soon  they  arrived  at  the 
camp,  and  were  surprised  at  its  pictur- 
esqueness.  It  consisted  of  about  a  dozen 
roumy  huts,  roofed  and  thatched  with  bark 
and  reeds.  At  a  short  distance  from  the 
huts  was  a  large  pool,  the  vegetation 
around  which  was  singularly  beautiful. 
Among  the  strange  trees  which  attracted 
the  notice  of  the  castaways,  the  umbrella- 
tree,  with  its  dark  leaves  and  crimson  flow- 
ers, seemed  to  them  the  most  remarkable. 


186 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


There  were  also  a  large  number  of  great  fig- 
trees,  and  magnificent  palms  with  feathery 
leaves.  The  "air  was  sweet  with  the  per- 
fume of  lily  and  jasmine  and  the  golden- 
flowered  thorn.  There  was  one  hut  which 
appeared  but  newly  built ;  it  was  prettier 
than  the  others,  and  its  sides  were  decorat- 
ed with  wild  flowers  and  flowering  vines. 
Towards  this  the  natives  led  Minnie,  upon 
whom  the  women  and  children  looked  in 
awe  and  wonder.  She,  clasping  Joshua's 
hand,  entered  this  hut,  and  sank  upon  the 
bed  of  dry  leaves,  wondering  what  was 
next  to  come.  She  begged  Joshua  to  stop 
with  her,  for  she  was  frightened  of  being 
left  alone.  So,  after  partaking  of  the  food 
which  the  natives  brought  to  them,  he  lay 
down  near  the  mouth  of  the  hut,  and  she 
at  the  farther  end  on  her  bed  of  leaves. 
Joshua  could  see  the  glories  of  the  sunset 
from  where  he  lay ;  and  he  saw  the  fire 
die  out  of  the  sky,  and  saw  the  stars  come 
out.  But  he  was  tired  with  his  day's  walk, 
and  sleep  overpowered  him,  although  he 
tried  to  keep  awake.  Early  in  the  morn- 
ing they  rose,  and  walked  towards  the 
banks  of  the  pool,  — 

"  To  where  the  weed  of  green  and  red 
Its  floating  carpet  gaylv  spread. 
Whereon  the  emerald  frog  reclined, 
Fanned  by  the fragiance  of  the  wind; 
And  all  was  darkened  by  the  shade 
The  water-weeping  branches  made  — 
Save  where  a  paler,  tenderer  green 
Made  bright  the  beauty  of  the  scene. 
The  birds  flashed  down,  to  drink  or  lave. 
With  varied  note  and  joyous  stave. 
And  plunging  sidelong  from  the  reeds. 
That  wavered  mid  the  water-weeds. 
Plashed  in  the  Btream  so  cool  and  calm, 
O'erhung  by  many  a  fern-tree  palm ; 
And  bell-bird  peels,  whose  silvery  chimes 
Found  in  the  rippleri  water  rhvmes. 
Throughout  the  perfumed  thicket  rang. 
Wtieuce  the  tali-headed  bulrush  sprang." 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 


OWER   OF    MUSIC. 


The  natives  were  busy  preparing  for  a 
grand  Correboree,  which,  being  interpreted, 
means  a  grand  gathering  and  celebration 
in  honor  of  some  imposing  event.  Scouts 
were  sent  out  in  every  direction,  and  every 
hour  brought  fresh  comers,  who  evinced 
the  greatest  possible  curiosity  in  the  white 
people.  At  one  time  nearly  sixty  members 
of  a  different  tribe  arrived  in  a  body,  and 
a  fierce  jabbering  took  place  between  the 
old  men  of  the  tribes.  Rough-aiid-Ready, 
who  had  by  this  time  picked  up  a  few  native 
words,  came  to  Minnie  and  Joshua  with  a 
look  of  concern  on  his  face. 


"  They  are  quarrelling  about  us,"  he  said. 
"  As  far  as  I  can  understand,  this  new  tribe 
lay  claim  to  us  for  having  been  found  in  a 
country  which  they  say  is  theirs.  I  think  I 
know  how  they  will  settle  it,  if  they  settle 
it  at  all  peaceably." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Joshua  anxiously. 
"  They  will  separate  us  —  two  for  each  of 
the  two  strongest  tribes."  Minnie  caught 
Joshua's  hand  convulsively.  "  I  know  what 
you  mean,  my  dear,"  said  Rough-and- 
Ready,  a  little  sadly  ;  "  you  and  Joshua 
must  not  be  parted.  And  indeed,  it  would 
not  be  right ;  you  belong  to  one  another. 
Well,  the  sailmaker  and  I  will  go  our  way 
and  you  will  go  yours.  Only  you  must  be 
cunning  and  keep  together.  Joshua,  to- 
night, be  tore  the  natives  go  to  sleep,  play 
a  iew  soft  airs  upon  your  accordion.  You 
and  Minnie  must  be  in  your  hut  together 
while  you  play.  And  don't  let  them  see 
the  accordion.  The  music  will  fill  them 
with  wonder,  and  it  will  be  a  strong  reason 
with  them  why  you  should  not  be  parted. 
But  indeed,  my  dear,  if  you  continue  to  act 
your  part  well  there  will  be  no  lear  of 
that." 

"  You  are  a  good  man,"  said  Minnie 
gratefully,  holding  out  her  hand  to  Rough- 
and-Ready. 

He  took  it  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and 
held  it  in  his  with  infinite  tenderness. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  he  said,  ''  I  am  not  a 
good  man.  You  liave  seen  me  at  my  best. 
I  am  a  convict,  and  when  I  came  on  board 
the  •  Merry  Andrew,'  I  was  trying  to  es- 
cape from  the  colony.  There's  many  a 
black  mark  against  me  which  I  doubt  will 
never  be  wiped  out  in  this  world.  I  was  a 
little  sinned  against  at  first,  it  is  true,  but  I 
had  my  revenge  afterwards  ;  I  couldn't  be 
meek  and  humble  under  undeserved  pun- 
ishment. There  !  that's  all  I  shall  tell  you 
about  myself  Your  imagination  must  fill 
in  the  outlines.  And,  mind  you  !  you  can't 
make  me  out  worse  than  I  am.  I  am  glad  I 
have  made  this  confession,  lame  and  bald  as 
it  is ;  it  has  relieved  my  mind."  He  turned 
his  back  to  them,  with  a  motion  which  said, 
"  You  see  what  a  vagabond  I  am  ;  I  am  not 
fit  company  for  such  as  you." 

But  Minnie  laid  one  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  with  the  other  turned  his  face 
towards  hers. 

"  You  are  a  good  man,"  she  repeated 
earnestly,  looking  into  his  eyes,  which  were 
filled  with  tears,  "  and  I  honor  and  respect 
you." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  Joshua,  grasping  his 
hand  heartily.  "  If  it  should  be  our  good 
fortune  to  meet  under  happier  circum- 
stances than  these,  I  will  show  my  gratitude 
to  you." 

"  There,     there,      there  1 "      exclaimed 


THE   POWER  OF  MUSIC. 


187 


Rougli-and-Ready,  half  roughly,  half  ten- 
derly ;  "  enough  said  about  tlie  past.  We 
sha'n't  be  together  much  longer,  as  I've  told 
you,  and  as  you'll  soon  find.  We  must 
take  things  as  they  come,  and  make  the 
best  of  them.  Do  you  know  the  natives 
have  a  curious  fancy  about  you  ?  "  he  said 
to  Minnie.  "  There  was  once  in  their  tribe 
a  young  woman  of  rare  beauty  and  virtues, 
who  was  idolized  by  all  I  don't  know  how 
long  ago  this  was,  and  it  is  only  by  j)iecing 
stray  words  and  actions  together  that  I 
have  been  able  to  understand  it.  Well, 
this  young  woman,  by  some  means  or  other, 
was  transtbrnied  into  a  star.  They  believe 
you  to  be  her,  having  taken  mortal  form 
again  to  visit  them.  'Tis  a  pretty  fancy, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  white,  and  "  — 

"  She  was  black,"  interrupted  Rough-and- 
Ready  gayly.  "  That  is  easily  accounted 
for ;  they  believe  that  when  they  die  they 
jump  up  white.  If  you  were  of  their  color, 
they  would  not  have  the  fancy  about  you." 

By  the  evening  there  were  not  less  than 
a  hundred  and  fifty  savages  collected  to- 
gether. Although  the  weather  was  warm, 
they  were  lying  down  before  their  camp- 
fires,  with  the  exception  of  one  group  of 
about  twenty  old  men  and  doctors  of  the 
principal  tribes,  who  were  earnestly  en- 
gaged in  discussing  matters  relating  to  the 
white  people.  An  old  chief  of  the  tribe 
who  had  first  discovered  the  castaways  was 
on  his  feet,  declaiming  violently,  with  ex- 
travagant action,  in  which,  nevertheless, 
there  was  much  dignity.  Opara  was  his 
name.  His  hair  and  beai'd  were  white,  and 
his  face  and  body  were  scored  with  ugly 
seams  gained  in  battle,  or  in  the  exercise 
of  the  strange  rites  and  ceremonies  of  his 
tribe.  On  his  neck  and  breast,  and  from 
his  shoulders  to  his  hips,  were  still  to  be 
seen,  old  as  he  was,  the  gashes  made  in  his 
youth  to  entitle  him  to  the  dignity  of  man- 
hood. A  great  chief  was  Opara  —  wise  in 
council,  fearless  in  battle,  and  had  been  the 
most  skilful  of  all  his  tribe  with  boomerang 
and  spear,  and  middla,  and  in  throwing  the 
wirra. 

"  The  strangers  are  ours,"  he  said  ;  "  the 
sacred  crow,  Karakorok,  witnesseth  that 
they  are  ours  by  right.  The  heavens  were 
filled  with  light,  and  great  voices  thundered. 
We  listened  in  awe.  Fire  rent  the  moun- 
tains, and  made  new  caverns  sacred.  Light 
dived  into  raging  waterfalls,  cutting  the 
earth.  We  waited  full  a  moon.  The  storm 
ceased ;  the  spirits  spoke  no  more.  We 
waited  another  moon.  The  stars  tell  near 
the  sea  —  into  it.  We  went  there,  wanting 
to  know.  We  brought  the  strangers  back. 
They  are  ours." 

Up  rose  Wealberrin,  chief  of  the  other 


tribe.  No  less  famous  lie  than  Opara. 
White-bearded,  too,  and  tattooed  from  top 
to  toe,  and  no  less  cunning  with  war  and 
hunting  wea[)ons.  Ai'ound  his  waist  was  a 
belt  made  of  the  hair  of  the  enemies  he 
had  slain  in  battle. 

"  Not  so,"  he  suit!.  "  The  land  is  ours. 
There,  in  Pandarri  Kurto  (heaven's  cav- 
ern), lie  our  mintapas  —  our  doctors. 
There  are  our  hunting-grounds  —  our  fish- 
ing-lands. There  we  make  men  of  our 
sons.  Shall  I  take  Opara's  food,  and  call 
it  mine  by  right  ?  He  would  reply  as  be- 
comes a  warrior.  If  I  ask,  he  would  give. 
But  I  ask  not  now.  The  land  is  ours.  What 
is  found  on  the  land  is  ours." 

"  Once  lived  Mirgabeen,"  said  Opara. 
''  Bright-eyed,  fleet-footed,  hollow-backed. 
Her  tongue  spoke  the  music  of  the  birds. 
Her  dark  hair  hung  down  to  her  arched 
feet.  She  could  shroud  her  glory  in  it  — 
as  night  the  day.  She  was  beloved  by  all. 
Too  bright  for  earth,  she  lives  in  the  laeav- 
ens  now,  a  star.  She  looks  down  on  me. 
She  hears  me  speak.  So  dwelt  with  us  a 
maid,  whose  supple  limbs  cleaved  the  wa- 
ter, who  sang  the  music  of  the  woods.  The 
trees  bent  to  her  as  she  walked.  The 
branches  bowed  before  her,  and  whispered 
to  her,  and  she  replied.  She  left  us  tor  the 
grand  vault  where  moons  are  made.  AV^;;t 
was  ours  is  ours.  She  has  come  back  to 
us.     She  is  ours." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Wealberrin.  "  The 
others  then  are  ours.     Opara  has  spoken." 

"  She  has  with  her  a  mate,"  said  Opara, 
"  whom  she  has  touched  upon  the  breast. 
Let  Wealberrin  take  two  —  we  two.  Then 
we  shall  have  peace. 

Wealberrin  would  have  replied,  but  as  he 
rose  to  his  feet  a  wondering  expression  stole 
into  his  face,  and  into  the  faces  of  all  as- 
sembled there.  For  from  Minnie's  gunyah 
issued  sounds  so  soft  and  sweet  that  the 
night-birds  hushed  their  voices  to  listen. 
The  breeze  was  so  light  that  the  melodious 
notes  hung  upon  the  air,  and  lingered  long 
before  they  died  away.  The  sava'i:es 
clutched  each  other,  and  stood  transfixed 
with  tear  and  wonder.  What  voices  wore 
these  that  were  s])eaking  ?  In  thJr 
dreams  they  had  never  heard  any  thing 
so  sweet.  Opara  had  said  it.  Minnie 
had  come  from  the  vault  where  the  moons 
are  made,  and  was  speaking  to  the 
spirits  of  another  world.  Motionless,  with 
bended  heads  or  with  forms  inclined  to- 
wards the  sound,  they  stood  like  figures  of  • 
stone,  in  reverential  attitude.  And  did  not 
move  a  limb  when  the  music  ceased ;  for  a 
shadow  fell  upon  the  moonlit  space,  and 
Minnie  came  to  the  opening  of  the  gunyah 
and  looked  in  dumb  amazement  at  the 
sti'ange  scene  before  her. 


188 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


And  now  the  day  has  come  upon  which 
the  grand  ceremony  of  the  Corroboree  is  to 
be  celebrated.  The  rival  tribes  have  set- 
tled their  dispute.  Rough-and-Ready,  who 
is  the  Chorus  of  the  party,  tells  his  friends 
that  Jo.shua  and  Minnie  are  to  remain  with 
Opara's  tribe,  and  that  he  and  the  sailmaker 
are  to  be  attached  to  Wealberrin's.  Joshua 
hints  at  resistance,  but  Rough-and-Ready 
declares  it  would  be  madness. 

"  If  there  was  no  woman  in  the  case,"  he 
says,  "  I  might  counsel  differently  ;  but  for 
Minnie's  sake  we  must  have  no  fighting. 
We  miglit  kill  a  score  or  two  of  the  natives, 
but  you  must  bear  in  mind  there  are  half  a 
thousand  of  them  here  now.  Then  their 
sjaears  are  poisoned.  Suppose  one  should 
strike  Minnie.  No,  no;  submission  is  our 
best  course."  So,  with  much  grief,  they 
are  (.'ompelled  to  make  up  their  minds  to 
submit. 

All  day  long,  there  is  great  feasting.  An 
emeu  has  been  hunted  down,  and  the  fat 
carefully  distributed  among  the  natives ; 
honey  and  sweet  roots  have  been  brought 
in  in  abundance,  and  the  bushes  have  been 
stripped  of  their  fruit.  Rude  seats  of  vines, 
decorated  with  flowers,  have  been  placed 
for  Minnie  and  Joshua  in  front  of  their 
gunyah,  and  in  front  of  the  seats  a  kind  of 
arclied  screen  of  leaves  and  branches  has 
been  erected,  through  the  network  of  which 
they  can  see  and  be  seen.  When  night 
comes,  fires  are  lighted,  the  flickering  flames 
of  which  give  birth  to  monstrous  shadows 
that  flit  about  the  trees,  and  fill  the  woods 
with  grotesque  shapes.  INIinnie  and  Joshua 
watch  with  a  kind  of  wonder  the  shadows 
created  by  the  fire  nearest  to  them.  Now 
the  light  goes  down,  and  the  black  shapes 
dart  through  the  woods,  or  rufl  swiftly  along 
the  branches,  ravenously,  and  with  cruel 
intent,  as  it  appears ;  anon,  the  flame  leaps 
up,  and  the  shadows  fly  and  shift  restlessly 
about,  with  lightning  speed,  as  if  suddenly 
surprised  by  an  enemy.  Their  attention, 
however,  is  soon  diverted  from  these  inani- 
mate creations.  The  natives  are  assem- 
bling. Men,  women,  and  children  troop  in 
from  all  quarters,  and  seat  themselves  round 
and  about  the  fires  in  somewhat  orderly 
fashion.  There  cannot  be  less  than  five  or 
six  hundred  of  them.  All  being  seated,  a 
long  silence  ensues,  broken  at  length  by  a 
circle  of  singers,  who  chant  a  monotonous 
song,  narrating  how  they  had  journeyed  to- 
wards the  sea  into  which  stars  were  falling, 
and  how  they  had  found  the  strangers,  and 
brought  them  to  their  camp.  As  they  sing 
this  song  over  and  over  again,  they  beat 
time  with  their  clubs.  A  brave  then  chants 
a  tradition  of  one  of  their  ancient  chiefs, 
who  was  compelled  to  fly  before  a  hostile 
tribe ;  all   his  young  warrious  were  slain, 


and  he  alone  escaped ;  but  his  enemies  de- 
termined to  put  an  end  to  him,  set  fire  to 
the  bush  around  him,  and  he  was  encircled 
by  a  net  of  flame.  Suddenly  the  earth 
opened,  and  water  stole  U23  from  the 
caverns  and  extinguished  the  fire,  and  so 
the  chief  was  saved,  and  a  great  river  was 
made,  in  which  fish  was  plentiful.  In  the 
midst  of  the  silence  which  follows  this 
song,  a  man  springs  from  out  the  shadows. 
His  face  is  crossed  with  lines  of  red  and 
yellow,  and  his  body  is  jJainted  white.  In 
his  hand  is  a  branch  of  gi-een  leaves,  and  a 
great  tuft  of  emeu-feathers  is  on  his  head. 
He  stands  perfectly  still  for  full  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  looking  into  the  sky  for  the 
spirits  of  dead  men.  What  inspiration 
falls  upon  him  at  the  end  of  that  time  it 
would  probably  be  difficult  to  explain  ;  but 
he  waves  his  branch  of  green  leaves  to 
and  fro,  and  the  singers  strike  up  another 
song,  and  the  musicians  beat  time  as  before 
with  their  war-clubs,  while  the  chief  actor 
in  the  scene  rushes  about,  and  flourishes 
his  arms  in  a  gradually-worked-up  state  of 
the  wildest  excitement.  He  vanishes  in  the 
shade  as  suddenly  as  he  had  apj^eared,  and 
in  his  jjlace  leap  a  dozen  men.  presenting 
so  startling  an  appearance  that  Minnie 
clasps  Joshua's  hand  in  sudden  alarm. 
Flowers  are  twined  round  their  ankles 
and  above  their  knees.  Some  have  tails  or 
dingoes  wound  about  their  heads,  others 
wreaths  of  down  from  the  white  cockatoo ; 
some  have  tails  of  wallabies  attached  to 
their  peaked  beards,  and  all  have  feathers 
in  their  hair.  White  rings  are  round  their 
eyes,  their  noses  are  striped,  and  lines  of 
red,  yellow,  and  black  are  painted  from 
their  shoulders  and  breasts  down  to  their 
waists,  where  a  white  ring  encircles  them. 
The  singers  burst  into  song  again,  and  the 
hideously-decorated  figures  begin  to  dance, 
advancing  towards  the  singers  and  retreat- 
ing from  them ;  their  motions  at  first  are 
slow  and  tremulous,  but  soon  they  are  leap- 
ing and  jumping  frantically  from  side  to 
side,  each  trying  to  out-tire  the  others, 
with  such  violent  exertion  as  to  cause  them 
presently  to  fall  upon  the  ground  in  a  state 
of  exhaustion.  As  soon  as  each  recovers, 
he  rises,  and  dances  by  himself,  and  the 
women  utter  cries  of  commendation,  and 
beat  the  ground  in  ecstasy.  These  perform- 
ers are  followed  by  others,  who  dance  in  a 
serpentine  line,  until  they  present  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  serpent  coiling  and  uncoiling 
itself;  as  they  dance,  they  make  a  hissing 
sound  with  their  tongues,  to  imitate  the 
hissing  of  a  serpent.  And  so  through  the 
night  the  Corroboree  continues,  until,  thor- 
oughly worn  out,  the  savages  retire  to  their 
rest,  and  the  woods  that  a  while  ago  were 
filled  with  such  stranire  life  and  sound,  are 


THE   POWER   OF  MUSIC. 


189 


lying  quiet  and  solemn  in  the  peaceful  light 
of  the  stars. 

Wealberrin  and  his  tribe  are  ready  to 
start,  and  Rough-and-Ready  and  the  sail- 
maker  have  come  to  wish  Minnie  and 
Joshua  good-by.  They  go  into  the  woods, 
out  of  sight  of  the  natives,  and  sit  sadly 
upon  trunks  of  trees  that  have  been 
blown  down  by  storms. 

"  I  have  heard  say,  or  have  read  some- 
where," says  Rough-and-Ready,  striving  to 
speak  gayly,  '•  that  life  is  made  up  of  meet- 
ings and  partings,  so  that  this  is  quite  a  nat- 
ural thing,  and  not  to  be  repined  at.  What 
we've  got  to  do  is  to  make  the  best  of 
things." 

"  It  might  be  worse,"  says  Tom  the  sail- 
maker,  good-naturedly  assisting  Rough-and- 
Ready  to  cheer  Minnie's  spirits. 

"  Bravo,  Tom !  "  exclaims  Rough-and- 
Ready.  "  It  might  be  a  good  deal  worse. 
We  have  escaped  greater  dangers  than  the 
present  one,  and  if  we  act  wisely  and 
bravely  we  shall  es(«ape  this.  But  it  all 
depends  upon  ourselves,  and  if  we  lose 
courage,  we  lose  all.  You  must  bear  that 
in  mind,'  my  dear.  Why,  this  day  twelve 
months  we  may  be  talking  together,  and 
smiling  at  these  experiences  which  now 
seem  so  hard  to  bear  !  " 

But  Minnie  only  smiles  sadly  Ln  reply, 
and  Joshua  asks  Rough-and-Ready  if  there 
is  any  thing  they  can  give  him  to  enable 
him  to  bear  them  in  remembrance. 

"  Nothing  is  needed,"  replies  Rough-and- 
Ready.  "  We  have  not  been  together  for 
a  very  long  time,  but  our  acquaintanceship 
has  been  sufficiently  eventful  to  cause  us 
never  to  be  able  to  forget  each  other.  Yet 
I  should  like  one  thing,"  with  a  tender 
glance  at  Minnie. 

"  What  ?  "  she  asks,  learning  by  his  look 
that  it  is  something  in  her  power  to  give. 

"  A  piece  of  your  hair,  Minnie,"  he  says. 

Minnie  desires  Joshua  to  cut  off  a  lock 
with  his  knife,  and  he  cuts  a  thick  tress 
and  gives  it  to  Rough-and-Ready,  who 
winds  it  round  his  finger  and  puts  it  into 
his  pocket. 

'•  Now,"  says  he,  "  for  a  little  sensible 
talk.  Your  sole  aim  must  be  to  endeavor 
to  work  your  way  near  to  the  settled  dis- 
tricts, where  you  may  have  the  chance  of 
falling  in  with  white  people.  Southward 
lies  your  chance  of  being  rescued.  Every 
day  the  squatters  are  coming  farther  inland 
in  search  of  new  ground  for  cattle-stations, 
and  every  day  this  fresh  opening  up  of  the 
country  adds  to  the  chances  of  escape. 
Whosesoever  lot  it  is  to  first  fall  in  with 
our  countrymen  must  tell  them  that  there 
are  two  white  people  living  with  one  of  the 
native  tribes  who  are  desirous  of  getting 


into  civilized  company  again.  That  will 
make  them  look  out  for  us  perhaps.  You 
will  find  that  stockmen  and  bushmen  are  as 
fine  and  manly  a  set  of  fellows  as  you 
would  desire  to  meet.  I  think  you  have 
the  best  chance  of  first  hearing  the  crack 
of  a  stockman's  whip,  for  your  iribe  is  more 
of  a  southern  one  than  ours."  Then  Rough- 
and-Reaily  told  them,  as  much  for  the  pur- 
pose of  diverting  ^linnie's  attention  from 
the  sad  parting  near  at  hand  as  for  any 
other,  of  the  wonderful  enterprise  of  the 
Australian  pioneers  of  progress,  of  the  dan- 
gers they  cheerfully  encounter,  of  the  un- 
known country  they  bravely  plunge  into, 
of  the  hardships  they  bear  and  make  light 
of,  and  of  the  grand  future  that  awaits  the 
beautiful  Australian  continent. 

'•  To  my  thinking,"  he  says  with  enthusi- 
asm, "there  is  no  life  that  contains  so 
much  pure  enjoyment  as  the  life  of  a  back- 
woodsman. I  would  not  change  it  for  any 
other  —  only  I  would  prefer,  for  occasional 
mates  and  companions,  white  people  instead 
of  savages.  I  don't  believe  man  was  in- 
tended to  Uve  in  close  cities." 

"  But  even  such  a  life  as  you  describe," 
says  Joshua,  "  leads  to  the  making  of  great 
cities.  The  pioneers  go  first,  and  the 
masses  follow." 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it,"  says  Rough- 
and-Ready  ;  "  they  follow,  and  are  not  con- 
tent to  live  naturally.  They  make  streets 
and  cramp  them  up  with  just  room  enough 
for  a  score  of  men  to  walk  abreast  in. 
Down  in  Sydney  there  are  streets,  as  you 
know,  where  not  a  half  a  dozen  men  could 
walk  abreast  through ;  but  that's  the  way 
of  all  cities,  large  or  small.  Directly  new 
land  is  opened  up,  in  troop  the  masses,  as 
you  call  them,  who  make  their  streets  and 
build  their  houses  as  if  there  wasn't  an 
inch  of  ground  to  spare ;  while  all  around 
them  are  thousands  and  thousands  of  miles 
of  lovely  country,  with  trees  and  flowers, 
and  fi'uit,  and  fish,  and  game,  inviting  them 
to  come  and  enjoy  life  as  it  ought  to  be  en- 
joyed ! " 

"  Well,"  says  Joshua,  "  'tis  the  way  of 
the  world.  Yoii  were  never  intended  to 
live  in  cities,  that's  clear." 

"I  don't  know.  I  dare  say,  once  upon  a 
time,  I  should  have  thought  I  was  mad  if 
such  ideas  as  I  have  now  had  entered  my 
head.  I  wasn't  always  so  rough  as  I  am 
now.  But  cities  are  necessary,  I  suppose ; 
and  it's  folly  to  talk  as  I  do.  Why,  I  don't 
doubt  that  in  less  than  fifty  years  a  city  will 
be  built  even  here  in  these  wild  woods  ; 
and  perhaps  on  this  very  spot  where  we 
now  sit  they'll  build  a  prison."  He  speaks 
these  last  words  with  a  dash  of  bitterness : 
but  he  soon  shakes  of  his  cynical  humor, 
and  proceeds  to  speak  of  more  important 


190 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


matters  concerning  the  present.  "Be  es- 
pecially careful  of  one  thing,"  he  con- 
cludes, "  never  by  any  chance  let  them  see 
your  accordion."  (Joshua  had  it  slung 
round  his  shoulders,  wi-apped  in  a  bag 
of  fur  which  Minnie  had  made  for  it.) 
"  When  you  play,  let  the  natives  hear  the 
music,  not  see  where  it  comes  from.  By 
that  means  you  will  best  preserve  your  in- 
fluence and  Minnie's  over  them.  And 
bear  in  mind  —  work  southward." 

Here  two  natives  make  their  appearance, 
and  after  looking  attentively  at  the  white 
people,  glide  away  quietly. 

"  'Tis  time  to  go,"  says  Rough-and- 
Keady,  jumjiing  to  his  feet ;  "  that  is  their 
delicate  way  of  telling  us  that  they  are 
waiting."  Minnie,  with  streaming  eyes, 
raises  her  tkce  to  his.  He  stoops  and 
kisses  her,  and  says  tenderly,  "  God  bless 
and  protect  you,  my  dear !  "  The  four  of 
them  shake  hands  sorrowfully,  and  part  — 
never  again  to  meet  on  earth.  So  Rough- 
and-Ready  and  Tom  the  sailmaker  disap- 
pear from  the  yearning  gaze  of  their 
Irieuds,  and  from  this  story ;  and  Joshua 
and  Minnie  are  left  thus  strangely  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXVH. 

HARSH      JUDGMENTS. 

The  foundering  of  the  "Merry  An- 
drew "  and  the  loss  of  every  soul  on 
board  were  duly  recorded  in  the  news- 
papers, and  utterly  shattered  the  happiness 
of  that  humble  home  in  Stepney  wherein 
love  and  content  had  dwelt  for  so  many 
years.  If  Mrs.  Marvel's  daughter  Sarah, 
who  has  played  an  insignificant  part  in 
this  history,  had  been  at  home,  unmarried, 
her  parents  might  have  derived  relief  and 
consolation  in  watching  the  progress  of 
her  fortunes  ;  but  Sarah  had  had  the  rare 
good  fortune  to  be  quickly  wooed  and 
quickly  won  by  a  country  mechanic,  and 
her  subsequent  career  has  nothing  in 
common  with  these  pages.  So  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marvel  were  left  alone  in  their 
unhappy  position.  They  could  not  bear  to 
live  longer  in  the  house  in  which  Joshua 
Lad  been  born  and  reared,  and  they  agreed 
to  Dan's  proposition,  that  they  should  move, 
and  live  with  him  and  his  sisters.  What 
added  to  their  unhappiness  was,  that  they 
were  at  war  with  every  one  of  their  neighbors. 
When  the  news  of  the  loss  of  the  "  Merry 
Andrew "  reached  Stepney,  the  neighbors 
one  and  all  decided  that  Joshua  was  guilty, 
and  many  of  them  declared  that  the  pun- 


ishment which  had  overtaken  him  was  a 
just  visitation.  To  listen  to  this  in  silence 
seemed  to  Joshua's  family  to  be  nothing  less 
than  flat  treason ;  they  fought  stoutly  and 
earnestly  against  the  calumny,  and  de- 
fended the  character  of  their  lost  son  Avith 
all  tlie  strength  of  their  loving  hearts. 
But  vainly.  The  neighbors  persisted  in 
their  belief  until  George  Marvel  gave  out 
that  if  he  caught  any  man  speaking 
against  the  dead,  he  would  thrash  him. 
He  had  not  long  to  wait  to  give  effect  to 
his  words.  He  came  home  one  day  with  a 
black  eye  and  a  bruised  face.  "  I've  been 
fighting  Bob  Turner,"  he  said  in  explana- 
tion, "  for  taking  away  our  Josh's  good 
name."  Now  Bob  Turner  was  a  favorite 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  cause  in 
which  he  received  a  drubbing  was  not  his 
alone,  but  all  his  neighbors'  as  well.  Was 
free  and  fair  speech  to  be  burked  by  such 
an  obstinate  and  opinionated  old  fellow  as 
George  Marvel  ?  Were  they  to  be  de- 
prived of  their  legitimate  privilege  of 
gossiping  and  tittle-tattling  ?  Things  had 
come  to  a  pretty  pass,  when  a  man  was  to 
be  allowed  to  bully  all  his  neighbors 
because  they  wouldn't  agree  with  him. 
The  fight  between  Bob  Turner  and  George 
Marvel  was  an  exciting  topic  of  conversa- 
tion in  every  house  for  a  dozen  streets 
round;  and  a  unanimous  vei'dict  was 
given  in  favor  of  Bob  Turner,  who  was 
looked  upon  in  some  sort  of  way  as  the 
general  champion  of  the  ituportant  privi- 
lege of  Tittle-tattle.  Much  sympathy  was 
expressed  for  him,  inasmuch  as  he  had 
been  taken  home  after  the  fight  with  a  bat- 
tered nose  and  bunged-up  eyes,  and  could 
not  go  to  his  work  for  a  week  afterwards. 
During  that  week  George  Marvel  thrashed 
another  man,  and  called  a  woman  un- 
pleasant names ;  and  when  the  woman's 
husband  demanded  an  explanation,  he 
received  one.  of  such  a  nature  as  to  convert 
him  instantly  into  an  active  enemy.  Then 
Bob  Turner,  convalescent,  made  his 
appearance  in  the  streets  again,  with 
traces  of  disfigurement  in  his  face ;  and 
burning  with  animosity  and  shr.me,  armed 
himself  with  a  stone  tied  in  the  corner  of 
his  pocket-handkerchief,  and,  swinging  his 
sling  defiantly,  expressed  his  regret  that 
Joshua  had  been  drowned,  for  thereby  the 
gallows  had  been  cheated.  George  Mar- 
vel, hearing  this,  went  in  search  of  his 
enemy  Bob,  and  came  away  again  with  his 
liand  so  disabled  by  a  blow  from  the  sling, 
that  he  also  could  not  work  for  a  week. 
At  which  Bob  Turner  rejoiced,  and  all  the 
neighbors  rejoiced  with  him.  After  that 
George  Marvel  refused  to  speak  to  any 
of  his  work-mates,  and  they,  in  retaliation, 
passed  a  resolution  sending  him  to  "  Gov- 


HARSH  JUDGMENTS. 


191 


entry "  for  six  months ;  winch  sending  to 
"  Coventry "  may,  to  the  uninitiated,  be 
described  as  the  very  refinement  of  cru- 
elty, inasmuch  as  it  i(i;nores  the  offender's 
existence,  and  condemns  him  not  to  be 
spoken  to  by  any  of  his  fellow-workmen. 
This  enforced  silence  was  a  dreadful  pun- 
ishment to  George  Marvel.  He  bore  it 
patiently  enou;ili  for  two  or  three  weeks ; 
but  then  it  became  a  horrible  torture.  To 
sit  at  his  work  day  after  day,  and  week 
after  week,  utterin'j;  no  word,  and  with  his 
woi"k-mates  avoidinn;  his  very  look,  was 
almost  maddening.  It  drove  him  to  some- 
thing which  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  record ; 
it  drove  him  to  drink.  And  the  habit  that 
began  to  grow  upon  him  was  of  the  worst 
kind.  Having  no  one  to  drink  with  him, 
he  drank  by  himself,  and  soon  began  to 
carry  a  flat  bottle  in  his  pocket,  liberally 
supplied  with  that  national  curse  —  Gin. 

Although  it  may  be  objected  of  George 
Marvel  that  in  his  behavior  towards  his 
neighbors  he  carried  things  with  too  high  a 
hand,  he  acted  only  in  strict  accordance 
with  his  nature ;  and  indeed,  if  he  had 
been  less  dictatorial  and  more  conciliatory 
it  is  likely  that  the  same  result  would  have 
been  produced.  It  was  not  to  be  expected 
of  him  to  be  gentle  and  self-suffering  under 
the  dreadful  accusation  that  was  brought 
against  his  son,  when  Mrs.  Marvel's  con- 
duct was  taken  into  consideration.  She 
could  not  listen  patiently  to  the  revilings 
of  the  neighbors ;  to  remonstrate  with 
them,  to  speak  gently  to  them,  to  beg  of 
them  to  be  more  merciful  in  their  speech, 
would  have  been  an  injustice  to  the  mem- 
ory of  her  son.  Every  tender  remem- 
brance connected  with  him  —  and  ah,  how 
many  there  were,  and  how  she  cherished 
them  !  —  urged  her  to  defend  him.  And 
she  did  defend  him,  with  all  her  mother's 
love,  and  with  flaming  eyes  and  agitated 
breast ;  told  the  revilers  that  they  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  themselves,  and  that 
they  must  be  bad  and  wicked  themselves, 
else  they  could  not  set  their  tongues  to 
such  bad  and  wicked  accusations  of  the 
best  son  that  ever  blessed  a  mother's  eyes. 
Poor  thing !  it  was  a  sad  sight  to  see 
her  make  her  indignant  defence  in  public, 
and  then  to  see  her  in  her  room  —  pale, 
powerless,  trembling  —  sink  into  a  chair, 
overcome  by  the  agony  of  her  grief.  It 
was  not  long  before  white  hairs  began  to 
multiply,  and  before  the  cheerful  look  quite 
died  out  of  her  face.  And  Dan  and  Ellen 
worked  on,  and  never  lost  their  faith  in 
the  dear  one  who  was  lost  to  them ;  and 
Susan,  notwithstanding  what  had  befallen, 
Btill  watched  and  rose  in  the  night,  and 
went  into  the  street,  awaiting  the  return  of 
Basil  Kindred's  murderer.     But  no  word 


of  him  passed  her  lips  ;  she  worked  at  her 
dressmaking  in  silence,  and  never  uttered 
a  cheerful  word.  A  blight  had  fallen  upon 
those  once  happy  homes. 

They  had,  however,  two  friends  and  con- 
stant visitors.  Praiseworthy  l\h'ddler  and 
Solomon  Fewster.  Through  good  and  evil 
report,  these  two  friends  remained  faithful  to 
them,  although  from  widely-different  mo- 
tives. Considering  all  the  circumstances, 
every  thing  had  turned  out  very  fortunate 
for  Solomon  Fewster.  He  confessed  as  much 
to  himself  exultantly,  and  curiously  enough, 
gave  himself  some  credit  for  having 
brought  it  about.  Every  tittle  of  evidencie 
against  Mm  had  been  destroyed  ;  no  suspi- 
cion rested  against  him.  Joshua  was 
drowned ;  and  Ellen  remained,  looking 
prettier  in  her  black  dress  th  m  he  had 
ever  seen  her.  He  was  sure  of  her  now. 
He  had  only  to  wait.  She  had  an  encum- 
brance, certainly,  which  he  would  gladly 
have  dispensed  with  —  her  baby-girl,  born 
in  sorrow.  But  he  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  be  kind  to  her,  if  she  lived  ;  and 
this  resolve,  to  his  own  thinking,  atoned 
for  any  hand  he  may  have  had  in  Joshua's 
misfortunes.  When  he  saw  Ellen  with  her 
baby  in  her  lap,  he  thought,  and  thought 
rightly,  that  he  had  never  seen  a  more 
beautiful  sight.  "  One  day,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  I  shall  see  her  with  a  child  of 
mine  upon  her  breast ; "  and  he  dreamed 
with  tender  pleasure,  and  with  no  pangs  of 
conscience,  of  the  happy  time  to  come. 

So  time  passed  on,  and  no  ray  of  sun- 
shine illumined  the  darkness  of  that  un- 
happy home.  Things  were  going  from  bad 
to  worse.  George  Marvel  was  not  a  con- 
firmed drunkard,  but  he  drank  more  than 
was  good  for  him  ;  and  his  reputation  as  a 
cunning  workman  was  on  the  wane.  He 
did  not  work  regularly  either ;  he  was  often 
absent,  and  earned  less  money.  His  wife 
expostulated  with  him  many  times,  and 
begged  him  not  to  drink.  He  listened  with- 
out impatience,  and  said,  "  It's  of  no  use, 
Maggie  ;  if  I  didn't  drink  I  should  go  mad. 
I'm  an  altered  man  to  what  I  was,  and  I've 
brought  it  all  on  myself." 

"  Kay,  George,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot 
say  that  and  mean  it." 

(It  is  to  be  noticed  as  a  singular  thing 
that  now  she  never  called  her  husband 
"  father,"  and  indeed  had  not  done  so  since 
the  news  of  Joshua's  death  had  reached 
them.  The  delicacy  and  thoughtfulness  of 
a  faithful  wife's  love  are  not  to  be  ex- 
celled.) 

"  I  can  say  that  and  mean  it,  Maggie," 
he  replied  ;  "  I  have  been  the  cause  of  all 
this.  I  wasn't  content  that  my  son  should 
be  a  wood-turner ;  no,  I  drove  hhn  to  sea 
and  away  from  all  of  us.     We  might  have 


192 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


been  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long  if  he  had 
remained  at  home.  And  he  would  have 
remained  but  for  me.  I  remember  what 
you  said,  Maggie,  as  well  as  if  you'd  said  it 
last  night :  '  If  Joshua  is  shipwrecked, 
don't  forget  that  I  warned  you  betbrehand." 

"  O  George  !  "  cried  Mrs  Marvel,  in  an 
agony  of  remorse,  "  how  can  you  bring  my 
wicked  words  up  against  me  now  V  " 

"I  do  not  bring  tliem  up  against  you, 
wife ;  I  bring  them  up  against  myself.  And 
they  were  wise  and  good  words  —  not 
wicked  ones.  I  ought  to  'have  listened  to 
them  ;  but  I  was  obstinate  and  pig-headed, 
and  thought,  like  a  fool,  that  I  knew  better 
than  you.  Ah !  but  it's  too  late  to  alter 
what  is  past ;  and  I've  brought  death  to 
our  son  and  misery  to  you,  and  shame  on 
all  of  us." 

Then  he  refused  to  listen  to  her  longer, 
and  walked  away  to  chew  the  cud  of  his 
remorse,  and  to  drink  more  gin.  To  her 
and  to  the  others  in  the  house  he  was  gen- 
tle :  but  to  everybody  else  he  was  a  bear. 
One  night  he  came  home  in  a  condition 
which  may  be  described  as  neither  drunk 
nor  sober.  Dan  and  Ellen  were  sitting  to- 
gether, and  the  baby  —  to  whom  they  had 
given  Mrs.  Marvel's  name  of  Maggie  — 
was  lying  in  the  cradle,  when  he  came  into 
the  house.  It  belonged  to  his  humor  not 
to  show  himself  ashamed  of  his  new  bad 
habit :  when  he  was  drunk  he  did  not  slink 
away  and  hide  himself,  but  exhibited  a 
kind  of  reckless  defiance,  for  which  it 
would  have  been  as  hard  for  him  as  for 
others  to  account.  So  upon  this  occasion 
he  came  into  the  room,  quickly  followed  by 
his  wife,  who  never  watched  him  out  of 
doors,  but  who  attended  to  him  in  the  house 
as  if  he  were  a  child.  He  took  his  seat  in 
the  chair  which  Ellen  placed  for  him,  and 
sat  moody  and  silent  while  Mrs.  Marvel 
quickly  set  iiis  supper  before  him.  But  he 
could  not  eat  it.  He  pushed  the  food  from 
him  fretfully,  and  took  his  wife's  hand  and 
patted  it,  and  then  said  suddenly,  — 

"  Maffgie,  we  must  go  away  from  here." 

"  Go  away,  George  1 "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Where  to  V  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  can't  stop  here 
much  longer.  If  I  do,  I  shall  bring  fresh 
disgrace  upon  you.  I  can't  live  this  life 
any  longer;  it  is  killing  me.  We  have  al- 
ready lost  our  good  name  and  our  good 
character  in  the  neighborhood,  and  where 
I  used  to  get  respect  I  now  get  contempt. 
And,  Maggie,  I  am  afraid  of  myself!  A 
new  workman  came  into  the  shop  to-day, 
and  I  heard  Bob  Turner  tell  him  about  us 
and  about  our  poor  lost  boy,  and  speaking 
of  him  in  such  a  way  —  Dan  !  Ellen  !  "  he 
cried,  appealing  to  them  in  justification  of 
himself  "  could  you  stand  by  quietly  and  lis- 


ten to  shameful  words  spoken  of  our  Josh" 
ua  ?  Could  you  restrain  yourself  if  you 
heard  him  spoken  of  as  a — Oh,  but  I 
cannot  say  it !  '' 

Ellen  rose,  with  flashing  eyes  and  cheeks 
burning  with  honest  indignation. 

"  No,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  could  not, 
father.  I  should  tell  the  wretch  he  was  a 
coward  and  a  villain." 

"  I  told  him  so  —  your  very  words  :  I 
called  him  a  coward  and  a  villain ;  and  I 
almost  had  my  hand  on  his  throat,  when 
the  other  men  interfered.  But  there 
was  a  row  in  the  place  for  an  hour  :  for  I 
was  admost  mad.  And  then  the  master 
called  me  into  his  room,  and  told  me  — 
what  do  you  think  ?  Why,  that  he  was 
very  sorry  to  see  the  change  that  bad  taken 
place  in  me  lately  ;  that  he  was  very  soiTy 
to  see  that  I  had  taken  to  drink ;  that  I 
was  a  good  workman,  and  that  I  had 
worked  well  for  him  for  a  many  years ;  but 
that  if  I  couldn't  behave  myself  as  I  used 
to  do,  I  must  find  another  shop.  That  was 
a  pretty  thing  to  say  to  me  !  —  the  best 
workman  he  ever  had,  and  the  steadiest 
too  —  no,  I  can't  say  that  now  ;  but  I  could 
up  to  a  little  time  ago.  I  had  a  mind  to 
take  off  my  apron,  and  fling  it  in  his  face, 
but  thought  of  all  of  you  stopped  me.  Instead 
of  that,  I  asked  him  what  he  would  have 
done  in  my  place  supposing  he  had  had  a 
son ;  but  he  stopped  me  there,  and  said 
that  he  was  talking  business,  and  not  senti- 
ment. With  that  I  flung  myself  out  of  the 
room,  and  swore  I'd  join  the  Chartists,  and 
teach  the  masters  one  day  that  workmen 
have  hearts  "  —  But  Mr.  Marvel  broke  down 
here  and  glared  about  him  in  violent  agita- 
tion. 

They  let  him  be,  and  waited  till  he  was 
calmer ;  they  had  studied  how  best  to  hu- 
mor him.     Then  Mrs.  Marvel  said  :  — 

"  What  do  you  think  we  had  best  do, 
George  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  somewhat 
roughly;  "I'm  not  fit  to  give  advice.  I 
was  dead  against  you  when  you  didn't  want 
our  poor  boy  to  go  to  sea,  and  I'm  rightly 
served  for  it ;  but  I'll  never  advise  again. 
I'll  be  led  now,  not  lead." 

At  this  point,  Dan,  purposely,  but  with- 
out attracting  observation,  pushed  the  cra- 
dle so  as  to  awake  baby,  and  thus  caused 
a  diversion.  After  that,  he  quietly  gave 
Ellen  and  Mrs.  Marvel  to  understand  that 
he  wanted  to  speak  to  Mr.  Marvel  alone, 
and  the  women  presently  glided  out  of  the 
room.  George  Marvel  took  no  notice  of 
their  departure,  and  indeed  did  not  notice 
it  until  Dan  aroused  his  attention.  Then 
he  said,  — 

"  Where's  Ellen  and  the  wife  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  bed,  sir,"  replied  Dan  ;  "  and 


HARSH  JUDGMENTS. 


193 


I'm  glad  of  it,  because  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
you." 

George  IMarvel  gave  Dan  a  disturbed 
look,  and  said,  — 

"  Won't  another  time  do,  Dan  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  I  want  to  say  what  I  have  to 
say  now,  particularly." 

George  Marvel  nodded,  and  someliow  or 
other,  the  flat  bottle  in  wliich  he  carried 
his  gin  obtruded  itself  unpleasantly  upon 
his  notice.  It  made  a  bulge  in  his  pocket, 
and  he  tried  to  hide  it  from  Dan,  but  did 
not  succeed. 

"  Will  you  give  me  leave  to  speak  of  cer- 
tain things  in  the  past,  sir,  and  not  consider 
it  a  liberty  ?  "  asked  Dan. 

"  Say  what  you  like,  Dan ;  I  can't  con- 
sider any  thing  you  say  a  liberty." 

"  Ah  —  then  I  may  speak  of  another 
thing  presently,  which  makes  us  all  very 
unhappy."  (George  Marvel  sliifted  un- 
easily upon  his  chair,  and  wished  lie  could 
get  rid  of  the  flat  bottle  which  made  itself 
so  conspicuous  in  his  breast-pocket.)  "  We 
have  gone  through  many  changes  in  our 
humble  life ;  but  for  the  most  part  we  have 
been  very  happy.  Do  3'ou  remember,  sir, 
when  father  died,  how  perplexed  I  was  as 
to  how  we  should  live,  and  how,  when 
every  thing  seemed  to  be  a  failure,  and 
there  didn't  seem  to  be  a  ray  of  hope,  you 
came  to  me  with  twelve  pounds  four  shil- 
lings, in  a  bag,  which  you  had  collected  for 
us  among  the  neighbors  ?  "  (George  Mar- 
vel groaned,  and  thought,  "  ^Vhat  would 
the  neighbors  say  to  me  now  if  I  went  to 
them  on  such  an  errand  ?  But  I  was  re- 
spected then.")  "  Well,  sir,  from  that  time 
fortune  smiled  upon  us,  and  we  got  on,  un- 
til the  unhappy  day  came.  You  know,  sir, 
what  fither  died  of;  it  causes  me  shame 
and  sorrow  to  think  of,  although  it  is  a  long 
time  ago.  I  remember  how  Ellen  and  I 
used  to  sit  here,  in  this  very  room,  and 
tremble  when  we  heard  his  step  in  the  pas- 
sage —  she  was  frightened,  but  I  was  more 
ashamed  than  frightened.  There  was  the 
day  poor  mother  was  buried  —  I  shall  never 
forget  that  night  when  we  sat  here  in  the 
dark  ;  Mrs.  Marvel  was  very  kind  to  us 
that  day,  but  indeed  she  was  always  that. 
Jo's  mother  couldn't  be  otherwise." 
(George  Marvel  gave  a  gasp,  and  lowered 
his  head.)  "  It  cuts,  sir,  to  speak  of  Jo  in 
this  way ;  I  feel  it  as  well  as  you.  But  it 
may  do  good.  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
thought  that  night  of  poor  mother's  funeral, 
when  I  heard  father  stumbling  in  the  pas- 
sage. I  thought  it  was  cruel  and  unkind  to 
mother ;  I  thought  that  even  if  he  had  the 
right  to  bring  shame  on  himself  (which  I 
am  certain  he  hadn't,  for  no  man  has),  he 
had  no  right  to  bring  it  on  us ;  I  thought 
that  perhaps  poor  mother  died  sooner  than 
17 


she  might  have  done  if  fiither  had  been  a 
steady  and  sober  man.  For  father  earned 
very  little  money,  and  mother  had  to  work 
very  hard  to  make  both  ends  meet.  I  have 
known  her  get  up  in  the  winter  mornings 
at  five  o'clock,  and  work  and  slave  till  near 
midnight,  and  all  because  of  father's  idle- 
ness. Now  tell  me,  sii',  you  whom  I  have 
always  looked  up  to  because  you  are  a  just 
man,  could  any  thing  justify  father  in  lead- 
ing the  life  he  did  V  " 

"  Nothing,  Dan,"  replied  George  Marvel, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  He  did  not  even  have  the  excuse  of  a 
great  grief,"  said  Dan  courageously  and 
tenderly.  "  Why,  when  he  died  that 
dreadful  death,  shamed  and  shocked  as  I 
was,  I  looked  upon  it  as  a  mercy  to  him 
and  to  us  that  he  was  taken  away.  Yet, 
going  a  long  way  back,  to  the  time  when  I 
was  very  young,  I  remember  that  father 
was  not  so  very  bad  ;  he  used  to  drink  a 
little,  but  was  not  always  drunk.  It  grew 
upon  him,  I  suppose,  until  it  mastered  him, 
and  made  him  what  he  became."  Cer- 
tainly, Dan  proved  himself  the  cunningest 
of  physicians ;  he  had  brought  home  to 
George  Marvel  a  consciousness  of  the  abyss 
towards  which  he  was  walking,  and  had 
executed  his  task  tenderly,  wisely,  and 
without  giving  offence.  "  Now,  come,  sir," 
continued  Dan  boldly ;  "  let  us  look  things 
straight  in  the  face.  You  said  you  must 
go  away  from  here  —  you  mean  all  of  us, 
of  course.  Have  you  any  idea  where  we 
should  move  to  ?  " 

"None,  Dan.  Only  one  thing  is  plain 
to  me  —  ay,  much  plainer  to  me  after  what 
you  have  said  —  and  that  is  that  I  must  go 
from  this  neighborhood,  where  once  I  held 
up  my  head  and  was  respected,  but  where 
now  every  man  and  woman  is  my  enemy. 
I  never  will  be  friends  with  them  again  — 
never  !  If  they  held  out  their  hands  to  me 
now,  I  should  refuse  them,  after  what  they 
have  said  of  our  poor  dead  boy." 

"  Dead  boy  !  "  mused  Dan.  "  Are  you 
certain,  sir,  that  Jo  is  dead  ?  "  So  startled 
was  JNIr.  Marvel  by  the  question,  that  he 
gazed  at  Dan  in  speechless  astonishment. 
"I  haven't  spoken  of  it  to  anybody  else,, 
but  something  tells  me  that  our  Joe  is 
alive.  Yes,  sir,  you  may  well  stare  at  me, 
for  every  other  person  but  you  and  Ellen 
and  Mrs.  Marvel  would  call  me  mad  for 
saying  such  a  thing.  I  can.  give  you  no 
reason  for  the  belief — for  it  is  a  beliefj  not 
a  fancy.  Haven't  you  heard,  sir,  of  men 
being  wrecked  on  strange  lands,  and  living 
there  for  many  years  after  they  were  sup- 
posed to  be  dead  ?  Haven't  you  heard  of 
men  living  amongst  savages,  and  suddenly 
appearing  among  their  friends  years  and 
vears  after  they  were   lost?     Some  such 


194 


JOSHUA  MAKVEL. 


thing,    happily,    may    have    occurred     to 
Jo." 

"  But  it's  two  years  now  since  Josh  went 
away,"  gasped  Mr.  Marvel ;  and  then 
added,  "  Don't  tell  mother,  Dan ;  it  would 
drive  her  out  of  her  senses." 

"  I  shall  wait  before  I  tell  her,  but  I  shall 
tell  Ellen  when  the  proper  time  comes. 
Hope  isn't  a  bad  thing,  sir." 

"  But  hope  without  reason,"  suggested 
Mr,  Marvel. 

"  Except  the  reason  that  exists  and  the 
comfort  that  exists  in  thinking  of  the  cases 
that  we  have  read  of  in  stories  of  ship- 
wrecked men  who  have  been  preserved 
from  death.  But  hope  is  a  good  thing 
always,  whether  it  comes  from  reason  or 
fancy.  And  if  you  can  believe  as  I  believe, 
it  will  be  the  better  and  not  the  worse  for 
you.  Indeed,  indeed,  sir,  you  don't  know 
how  earnest  I  am  in  this.  Think  of  the 
friendship  that  exists  between  me  and  Jo ; 
I  believe  it  to  be  something  better  and 
higher ,  than  ordinary  friendships  among 
boys  and  men.  It  has  grown  up  with  us, 
until  it  has  become  almost  a  part  of  our 
very  being.  We  are  never  out  of  each 
other's  thoughts  ;  when  he  was  away  on  his 
first  voyage  he  was  always  thinking  of  me, 
and  I  of  him.  And  that  Christmas  niglit 
that  he  came  home  —  do  you  know  what 
happened  then,  sir  ?  Ellen  can  tell  you 
that  during  the  whole  of  that  day  I  was 
uneasy  about  Jo ;  I  had  dreamed  of  him 
the  night  before,  and  my  dream  made  me 
unhappy,  for  I  was  convinced  that  he  was 
in  danger.  I  had  no  reason  for  that,  nor 
had  I  any  reason  for  telling  Ellen  tbat  Jo 
was  very  near  us  an  hour  before  he  came 
to  the  door.  But  unhappily,  it  all  came 
true  as  I  feared.  Now,  sir,  I  have  thought 
often  that  if  Jo  was  dead,  I  should  feel  it 
and  know  it  —  and  I  don't  feel  it  and  don't 
know  it.  Something  keeps  whispering  to 
me,  "  You  will  see  him  again,  be  with  him 
again."  And  I  believe  that  I  shall.  For 
last  night,  sir,  I  dreamed  of  Jo,  and  Jo  was 
alive  ;  and  as  sure  as  we're  sitting  here 
talking,  we  shall  see  Jo  one  day,  and  all 
the  dreadful  mystery  that  looks  so  black 
against  him  will  be  cleared  up." 

Mr.  Marvel  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  walk- 
ed excitedly  about  the  room.  There  was 
something  contagious  in  Dan's  enthusiasm. 
So  eai-nest,  so  thrilling  was  Dan's  voice,  that 
Mr.  Marvel's  heart  beat  high  with  the  hope 
in  which  there  was  no  reason. 

"  I  have  not  done  yet,  sir.  When  you 
said  to-night  that  you  must  go  away  from 
here,  I  was  amazed,  for  it  seemed  to  belong 
to  part  of  my  dream.  Jo  seemed  to  say  to 
me,  '  I  can't  come  to  you,  Dan ;  come  to 
me.'     Anil  I  want  to  go  to  him  "  — 

Mr.  Marvel  stopped  suddenly  in  his  walk, 


and  stood  before  Dan  with  a  startled  look 
on  his  fece. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  him,  or  as  near  to  him 
as  I  can.  The  last  place  Jo  was  heard  of 
was  at  Sydney,  and  the  ship  is  supposed  to 
have  foundered  somewhere  near  the  Aus- 
tralian coast.  Well,  sir,  if  by  any  means  it 
can  be  managed,  we  ought  to  go  to  Aus- 
tralia." 

"  All  of  us !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Marvel. 

"  All  of  us,"  repeated  Dan.  "  Why  not  ? 
We  are  miserable  here  —  unhappy  here. 
We  haven't,  as  you  say,  a  friend  in  the 
place.  Everybody  is  against  Jo,  and  be- 
lieve him  to  be  bad,  while  we  know  him  to 
good.  I  agree  with  you,  sir,  that  if  those 
we  thought  were  our  ti-iends  and  who  have 
spoken  against  Jo  were  to  hold  out  their 
hands  to  me,  I  would  not  take  them.  It 
would  be  treasonable  to  Jo.  To  live 
on  here  in  this  way  would  only  be  adding 
to  our  unhappiness.  I  dare  say  we  could 
manage  to  get  along  out  there.  Mr.  Med- 
dler says  it  is  a  rising  place,  and  a  splendid 
country  for  a  poor  man  to  get  along  in. 
You  could  take  your  tools,  and  could  get 
work.  I  could  take  my  birds,  and  should  be 
able  to  get  plenty  there  that  I  could  train. 
Why,  sir,  it  would  be  a  splendid  thing,  and 
the  best  for  all  of  us." 

"  I  believe  it  would  —  I  believe  it  would," 
said  Mr.  ]\Iarvel,  his  voice  trembled  with 
eagerness ;  "  but  where  is  the  money  to 
come  from  ?  " 

"  We  have  forty  pounds  of  Jo's,  sir,  that 
he  left  for  you  and  n:e  ;  I  wouldn't  mind  it 
being  spent  that  way.  That  wouldn't 
be  any  thing  like  enough,  I  know ;  but  I 
think  I  have  a  friend.  However,  sir.  let  us 
think  over  it  for  a  little  while.  I  am  glad 
tbat  we've  had  this  talk.  You'll  forgive 
me.  sir,  won't  you,  for  what  I  said  in  the 
first  part  of  it  ?  " 

George  Marvel  made  no  reply,  but, 
standing  by  Dan,  put  his  arm  affectionately 
round  the  neck  of  his  son's  friend  ;  then  lefl 
the  room,  and  comforted  his  wife  by  a  very 
simple  act.  He  took  the  flat  bottle  out  of 
his  pocket,  and  said,  "  Maggie,  I  have  done 
with  this ;  I  shall  never  fill  it  again."  And, 
happily  for  him  and  all  of  them,  he  kept  his 
word. 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 

MR.    MARVEL    SHAKES    THE     DUST     FROM 
HIS   FEET. 

Dan  took  the  Old  Sailor  in  to  his  confi- 
dence, and  the  impracticable  old  fellow  ex- 
citedly proposed    that   they  should   leave 


MR.  MARVEL  SHAKES  THE  DUST  FRO 


Stepney  and  come  and  live  with  him  in  his 
barge.  But  as  Uan  declared  that  that  was 
impossible,  the  Old  Sailor's  hopes  fell  down 
to  zero. 

"  We  can't  live  in  this  neighborhood 
much  longer,"  said  Dan  ;  "  it  wouldn't  so 
much  matter  to  me,  for  I'm  always  indoors, 
but  it  does  to  Jo's  father.  I  know  what  he 
must  sulier.  You  see,  what  we  want  is  a 
friend." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Old  Sailor,  "  what  you 
want  is  a  friend.  Well,  we'll  talk  of  this 
again  by  and  by." 

"  He  went  down  stairs  to  see  Ellen,  and 
found  her  crying  over  her  baby. 

"  Come,  come,  my  dear,"  he  said  ;  "  this 
won't  do  ;  you'll  be  making  an  old  woman 
of  yourself  in  no  time."  And  he  dried  her 
eyes  with  his  handkerchief 

"  You're  the  only  friend  we've  got  now," 
said  Ellen  sadly. 

The  Old  Sailor  thought :  "  Says  Dan, 
'  What  we  want  is  a  friend.'  Says  Ellen, 
'  You're  the  only  friend  we've  got.'  "  And 
he  put  this  and  that  together,  as  he  had 
done  once  before  in  the  memorable  conver- 
sation he  had  had  with  Joshua  at  Graves- 
end,  when  he  set  all  matters  straight. 

"  What  were  you  crying  for,  my  lass  ?  " 
he  said  aloud. 

"  Ah,  sir  !  "  replied  Ellen,  "  I  don't  mind 
telling  you.  I  was  looking  down  at  baby, 
and  thinking  that  when  she  is  old  enough 
to  understand  things  —  and  baby  is  very 
quick,  and  almost  understands  already, 
don't  you,  my  pet  ?  —  she  will  hear  such 
stories  from  iil-natured  people  about  father, 
as  will  make  her  as  unhappy  as  her  poor 
mother  is.  When  I  thought  that,  sir,  I  be- 
gan to  cry,  and  was  almost  wicked  enough 
to  believe  that  it  would  be  better  for  both 
of  us  to  die  than  to  live  amongst  such  bad- 
hearted  people." 

The  Old  Sailor  did  not  stop  long,  but 
walked  away  in  profound  thought. 

Soon  after  that,  another  misfortune  oc- 
curred. George  Marvel  told  them  that  he 
bad  left  his  situation.  "  i  gave  it  up  of  my 
own  accord,  Maggie,"  he  said  to  his  wife, 
to  whom  he  first  spoke  upon  the  subject ; 
"  If  I  hadn't,  I  should  have  done  something 
that  would  have  made  the  master  give  me 
warning,  and  I  should  have  been  disgraced. 
I  can't  make  sure  of  myself  now ;  my  blood 
boils  up  so  when  I  hear  a  word  dropped 
about  Josh,  that  every  thing  swims  before 
my  eyes.  I  can't  help  it,  my  dear.  Don't 
blame  me." 

She  did  not  blame  him,  but  said  she  was 
sure  he  had  done  what  he  thought  was  for 
the  best. 

"  I've  worked  in  the  shop,  man  and  boy, 
for  more  than  thirty  years,"  he  said  husk- 
ily, "  and   I   doubt  if  I  shall  get  another. 


FEET, 


195 


Trade's  overdoiJ^C^gpod  many  men  are  / 
out,  and  I'm  notX^tfQQuag  as  I  was.  \/ 
don't  quite  see  the  eiwvcS"-it,  M.ig^ic." 

She  cheered  him  and  comforted  him,  and 
he  wont  out  the  next  morning  in  search  of 
work,  feeling  very  much  ashamed  of  him- 
self It  was  like  begging.  He  came  home 
disheartened  and  footsore,  and  hadn't  a 
cheerful  word  or  look  for  any  one.  "  A 
nice  ending  this  is  !  "  he  said  bitterly.  "But 
I  brought  it  all  on  myself  I  shouldn't 
have  driven  our  boy  to  sea."  He  seemed 
to  think  it  was  nothing  but  strict  justice 
that  he  should  take  all  the  blame  upon 
himself.  He  earned  so  little  money,  that 
presently  he  had  to  break  into  Joshua's 
legacy  to  him  and  Dan,  and  it  began  to 
melt  like  magic.  Things  were  getting  very 
bad.  The  dress-making  work,  too,  was 
slackening,  and  Susan  and  Ellen  had  many 
idle  days. 

Solomon  Fewster  observed  all  this  with 
inward  satisfaction,  although  outwardly  he 
sympathized  with  them,  and  was  proiiise 
in  his  offers  of  assistance.  But  they  would 
not  accept  any  thing  from  him  ;  and  very 
soon  the  proceeds  of  the  birds  he  continued 
to  purchase  from  Dan  became  their  most 
dependable  source  of  revenue.  Notwith- 
standing that  he  was  careful  never  to  say  a 
word  of  the  past  that  would  be  distasteful 
to  them,  he  did  not  make  much  way  in 
their  good  graces.  They  did  not  show  this, 
however ;  he  was  consistent  in  his  offers  of 
assistance  and  in  his  friendly  behavior, 
and  they  could  not  show  ingratitude ;  but 
their  instincts  were  against  him.  He  al- 
lowed a  year  to  pass  before  he  spoke  to 
Ellen  of  his  love  for  her,  and  even  then  he 
thought  it  best  first  to  make  sure  of  the 
co-operation  of  her  friends.  He  addressed 
himself  in  the  first  place  to  George  Marvel, 
who  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  and  was 
indeed  very  much  astonished  at  Mr.  Fews- 
ter's  declaration.  He  had  never  suspected 
that  ]\Ir.  Fewster  had  an  attachment  for 
Ellen. 

"  I  loved  her  before  she  was  married," 
said  jSIr.  Fewster  to  him  ;  "  but  then  1  saw 
that  she  loved  your  poor  son,  and  I  was  too 
honorable  to  interpose.  So  I  did  not  dis- 
tress her  by  telling  her  of  my  love." 

Mr.  Marvel  thought  that  that  was  manly 
and  straightforward,  but  asked  Mr.  Fews- 
ter why  he  spoke  to  him  upon  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  You  are  in  a  sort  of  way  Ellen's  fa- 
ther," replied  Mr.  Fewster,  "  and  it  is  due 
to  you  that  I  should  speak  to  you  first. 
I  should  not  be  justified  otherwise  in  offer- 
ing myself  to  Ellen.  I  have  something  to 
say  also,  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  taking 
the  liberty  "  — 

Seeing  that  Mr.  Fewster  hesitated,  Mr. 


196 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


Marvel  bade  him  proceed,  and  then  the 
wooer  cunningly  placed  before  Mr.  Marvel 
certain  advantages  that  would  accrue  to 
him  if  Ellen  consented. 

'•'  I  should  feel  it  my  duty,"  said  Mr. 
Fewster,  "  to  see  that  the  man  I  look  upon 
as  Ellen's  father  is  properly  cared  for." 

"  Never  mind  that,"  said  Mr.  Marvel ;  he 
had  recovered  from  his  astonishment,  and 
felt  a  sort  of  displeasure  at  Mr.  Fewster's 
proposal.  "  Never  mind  that,"  he  repeated 
dryly,  "  but  tell  me  what  it  is  you  want  me 
to  do." 

"  I  want  you  to  give  your  consent,  Mr. 
Marvel,  and  to  assist  me." 

"  Assist  you  in  making  a  woman  love 
you,  ]\Ir.  Fewster  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  ^Marvel. 
"  No,  no ;  the  matter  rests  with  you  and 
Ellen.  It  is  none  of  mine,  and  any  feeling 
I  may  have  in  the  matter  it  is  but  right  I 
should  keep  to  myself." 

''  But  you  won't  say  any  thing  in  my  dis- 
favor," urged  Mr.  Fewster,  alarmed  at  Mr. 
Marvel's  coldness  of  manner,  and  thinking 
to  himself  that  when  Ellen  was  his  wife, 
he  would  have  as  little  as  possible  to  do 
with  the  Marvels. 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  to  Ellen  one  way 
or  the  other,"  replied  Mr.  Marvel  moodily. 
"  I  have  no  doubt  Ellen  knows  what  is 
due  to  herself.  And  to  Joshua,"  he  was 
about  to  add,  but  he  only  thought  the  words  ; 
they  did  not  pass  his  lips.  When  Mr. 
Fewster  went  away,  Mr.  Marvel  was  very 
despondent,  and  thought  with  some  bitter- 
ness that  he  would  have  spoken  to  Ellen's 
lover  very  differently,  if  he  hadn't  been  so 
low  down  in  the  world.  So  discouraged 
was  IVIr.  Fewster  by  his  interview  with 
Mr.  Marvel,  that  he  did  not  speak  to  any 
other  members  of  the  family,  not  even  to 
Dan,  but  came  straight  to  the  point  at  once 
with  Ellen.  After  all,  whom  else  did  it 
concern  but  Ellen  and  himself  ?  She  was 
sitting  in  the  kitchen,  working ;  baby  was 
in  the  cradle,  and  upon  Ellen's  face  were 
traces  of  tears.  When  she  and  baby  were 
alone,  her  tears  flowed  too  readily  now. 
Solomon  Fewster  had  prepared  himself 
carefully  for  the  occasion.  He  was  attired 
in  his  best,  and  presented  quite  a  holiday 
appearance.  He  bought  a  bunch  of  flowers 
fur  Ellen,  of  which  he  begged  her  accept- 
ance. With  a  little  hesitancy  of  manner, 
she  took  them  from  his  hand  and  placed 
them  on  the  table.  There  is  something  in  the 
air  of  a  wooer  that  betrays  his  purpose  to 
the  woman  he  loves,  and  when  Ellen  looked 
into  Mr.  Fewster's  face  and  saw  this,  she 
rose  hurriedly,  and  stooped  to  take  baby 
out  of  the  cradle,  intending  to  leave  the 
room.  But  Llr.  Fewster's  hand  upon  her 
arm  restrained  her. 

"  Nay,  Ellen,"  he  said  awkwardly, 


\ 


baby  alone  for  a  little ;  don't  disturb  her 

—  she  looks  so  pretty  in  her  sleep."  And 
calling  up  a  look  of  admiration  in  his  face, 
he  contemplated  baby  with  an  appearance 
of  affectionate  interest,  which  Avould  have 
won  its  way  to  the  heart  of  most  mothers 
at  once.  But  not  to  Ellen's.  Mr.  Fews- 
ter's tender  manner  brought  back  to  her 
the  memory  of  all  his  disagreeable  atten- 
tions when  they  were  first  acquainted,  and 
she  waited  in  silent  apprehension  for  what 
she  dreaded  was  to  come.  But  round  about 
the  bush  went  Mr.  Fewster. 

"  Things  are  very  much  changed,  Ellen," 
he  observed.  She  would  have  resented  his 
calhng  her  by  her  Christian  name  on  the 
present  occasion,  although  he  had  oflen 
done  so  before ;  but  he  was  Dan's  patron 
and  their  chief  dependence,  and  she  did 
not  dare  to  object.  "  Very  much  changed," 
he  repeated.  "Mr.  Marvel,  poor  fellow, 
looks  quite  shabby.  He  has  a  difficulty  in 
getting  work,  I  believe.  Very  sad  —  very 
sad.  But  it's  the  way  of  the  world.  One 
man  up,  another  man  down.  Lucky  man 
that  who  can  always  keep  up." 

"  He  is  inded,  Mr.  Fewster,"  said  Ellen, 
constrained  to  say  something  in  reply. 
'•  But  we  can't  help  misfortunes  coming." 

"  No ;  but  we  can  often  turn  bad  fortune 
into  good.  Now,  looking  lately  at  Mr.  and 
jSIrs.  Marvel,  who  are  far  from  happy,  poor 
things  !  far  from  happy,  I  have  been  think- 
ing what  a  beautiful  thing  it  would  be  to 
make  them  easier  in  their  mind  as  regards 
their  worldly  circumstances,  for  there  is  no 
doubt  that  that  constitutes  the  greatest 
part  of  their  unhappiness.  As  for  the  other 
part  of  their  unhappiness  —  family  grief — 
time  will  soften  that.  But  time  doesn't 
soften  poverty  if  it  is  always  with  you.  It 
is  a  sad  thing,  a  very  sad  thing,  but  it  is  so 
unfortunately.  Tliere  is  no  harder  misfor- 
tune in  the  world  than  poverty." 

"  Yes,  there  is,  Mr.  Fewster,"  said  Ellen, 
who  had  taken  baby  on  her  lap  as  a  kind 
of  protection.  "  There  are  griefs  of  the 
heart  which  are  bitterer  to  bear  than  pov- 
erty." 

"  I  stand  corrected.  But  then  that  will 
be  the  case  with  the  few,  not  with  the  many 

—  with  the  few  who  are  superior  to  most 
people,  and  who  are  the  more  to  be  ad- 
mired for  the  possession  of  such  excellent 
virtues.  I  know  one  woman  who  is  far 
above  all  others  in  this  respect,  and  whom 
I  therefore  love  and  admire  fur  above  all 
other  women."  Ellen  trembled  and  turned 
very  pale,  but  Mr.  Fewster  proceeded  rap- 
idly, fearful  lest  he  had  been  too  precipi- 
tate, "  Coming  back  to  Mrs.  Marvel  —  would 
it  not  be  a  good  thing  to  make  her  com- 
fortable in  her  mind  about  her  worldly 
.circumstances  ?  " 


MR.   MARVEL  SHAKES  THE  DUST  FROM  HIS  FEET. 


107 


"  It  would  be  —  a  very  good  tbing," 
answered  Ellen»  in  a  low  tone. 

"  And  it  can  be  done.  There  is  one  per- 
son who  has  it  in  her  power  to  do  this  for 
Mrs.  Marvel."  Again  Mr.  Fewster  paused 
until  Ellen  asked,  "Who  is  that  person, 
Mr.  Fewster?" 

"  You,"  be  said  eagerly.  "  You  can  do 
this,  and  at  the  same  time  you  can  make  a 
man  who  has  loved  you  from  the  first  day 
be  saw  you  the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

"  Stop,  sir  1 "  cried  Ellen,  in  a  firm  voice. 
"  You  must  not  say  what  you  were  about 
to  say.  It  would  be  iblly  —  worse  than 
folly  —  it  would  be  wicked  for  me  to  pre- 
tend not  to  understand  you.  It  would  be 
merciful  to  me,  and  best  for  both  of  us,  that 
you  should  not  say  any  thing  more  now.  I 
have  no  heart  for  any  thing  but  my  grief 
and  my  child. 

So  earnestly  did  she  speak,  that  Fewster 
was  fain  to  desist.  The  only  words  he 
said  were,  "  You  shall  see  how  I  respect 
and  love  you  :  your  word  is  my  law ;  "  and 
straightway  left  her.  But  he  did  not  leave 
her  despairingly.  One  little  word  that 
Ellen  had  unconsciously  uttered  filled  him 
with  hopeful  anticipation.  She  had  said, 
"  It  will  be  merciful  to  me,  and  best  for 
both  of  us,  that  you  should  not  say  any 
thing  more  now."  She  had  put  no  impres- 
sion upon  the  word ;  but  the  wish  that 
"  keeps  the  word  of  promise  to  the  ear  "  im- 
bued it  with  a  distinct  utterance  to  Solo- 
mon Fewster's  sense.  "  I  must  not  say 
any  thing  more  noio,"  he  thought ;  "  that 
opens  the  way  for  the  future.  I  must  be 
content  for  a  little  while."  He  thought  he 
had  made  a  good  move,  and  that  he  was 
sure  to  win  the  game. 

When  he  was  gone,  Ellen  caught  her 
baby  to  her  bosom,  and  ran  to  Dan's  room 
for  consolation  —  almost,  as  it  seemed  to 
her,  for  protection.  There  she  found  George 
Marvel  sitting  in  an  attitude  of  sadness. 
He  had  not  had  an  hour's  work  for  the 
last  fortnight,  and  half  of  Joshua's  savings 
was  spent :  but  barely  twenty  pounds  re- 
mained. When  that  was  gone !  Well, 
that  was  what  was  fermenting  in  George 
Marvel's  mind  now.  When  that  was  gone, 
what  was  he  to  do  ?  Sit  down  and  starve  ? 
Without  doubt,  they  could  not  all  live 
upon  Dan's  earnings  ;  for  Dan  and  his  sis- 
ters earned  barely  enough  to  keep  them- 
selves. He  groaned  in  bitterness  of  spirit 
to  think  that  he,  the  only  man  in  the  house 
who  could  work,  was  doomed  to  idleness. 
He  had  striven  hard,  and  still  strove,  to 
obtain  employment  —  with  what  success 
has  been  narrated.  He  felt  at  times  as  if 
he  would  be  justified  in  demanding  work, 
instead  of  begging  for  it.  Indeed,  on  one 
occasion  he  had  asked  for  work  in  some- 


what defiant  tones,  and,  being  refused,  had 
spoken  out  of  the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  of 
the  injustice  and  hardship  that  stood  in 
his  way  of  earning  food,  l)eing  willing  to 
work  for  it  honestly.  The  only  answer 
he  received  was  an  order  to  (juit  the  shop 
immediately,  if  he  did  not  wish  to  be  given 
in  custody.  The  sentiments  to  which  he 
had  given  utterance  were  st)on  made  known 
to  many  masters  in  the  trade,  some  of 
whom  afterwards,  in  reply  to  his  applica- 
tions, said  they  did  not  want  any  Chartists 
in  their  workrooms.  His  case  was  a  des- 
perate one  indeed.  The  problem  which 
he  was  trying  to  solve  as  Ellen  entered  the 
room  after  her  interview  with  Solomon 
Fewster  was  a  common  one  enough,  more's 
the  pity.  He  would  have  expressed  it  in 
very  simple  words  :  "  I  must  work  to  live. 
I  am  able  to  work,  and  willing.  I  cannot 
get  work.  How  am  I  to  live  ? "  Ellen 
saw  the  trouble  in  his  face,  and  sat  down 
by  his  side.  He  gave  her  just  one  glance, 
and  learned  what  had  occurred ;  for  he 
had  seen  Solomon  Fewster  go  out  of  the 
house. 

"  I  know  what  has  occurred,  my  dear," 
he  said  anxiously.  "  Mr.  Fewster  has 
been  speaking  to  you.     And  your  answer  ?  " 

"  1  have  no  need  to  tell  you,  father," 
said  Ellen,  raising  her  eyes  to  his.  She 
said  nothing  of  the  bribe  Fewster  had 
offered  for  her  love. 

George  Marvel  saw  that  Ellen  had  re- 
fused Mr.  Fewster,  and  he  nodded  grave 
approval ;  yet,  from  a  sense  of  justice,  was 
compelled  to  ask,  — 

"  Have  you  considered  all  the  circum- 
stances, Ellen  ?  Have  you  considered  the 
future  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  only 
know  that  I  have  done  what  is  right,  and 
what  is  due  to  my  dear  Joshua's  memory." 

All  this  was  Greek  to  Dan,  and  it  had  to 
be  explained  to  him.  He  listened  in  si- 
lence, and  was  very  thoughtful  afterwards. 
He  let  the  matter  drop,  however,  until  he 
and  Ellen  were  alone ;  and  then  he  told 
her,  gently  and  by  degrees,  of  his  belief 
that  Joshua  was  not  lost,  and  of  his  ear- 
nest desire  to  go  over  the  seas  and  com- 
mence a  new  life.  She,  listening  eagerly, 
almost  breathlessly,  pressed  his  hand  to  her 
lips  and  kissed  him  again  and  again,  and 
was  absolutely  so  simple  as  to  share  his 
belief.  Hope  revived  within  her ;  and 
when  Dan  said,  "  You  are  not  widowed 
yet,  dear;  of  that  I  feel  assured,"  she 
blessed  him  for  the  words  in  which  there 
was  no  reason. 

Other  troubles  came.  Solomon  Fewster, 
strong  in  cunning,  made  a  new  move  in  the 
game.  His  orders  began  to  fall  off,  and  in 
a  short   time  he  bought  one  bird  where 


198 


JOSHUA  MARVEL, 


formerly  he  had  bought  three.  Perhaps 
he  thought,  "If  love  won't  drive  Ellen 
into  my  arms,  necessity  may."  It  was  a 
cruel  device,  mean  and  merciless,  and  it 
struck  fresh  terror  to  their  hearts.  They 
could  do  nothing  but  wait  and  watch  the 
tide  come  up.  And  things  grew  so  bad 
for  them  that  they  had  to  content  them- 
selves with  two  meals  a  day,  and  those  but 
poor  and  scanty  ones.  Their  condition 
was  a  strange  parallel  to  that  of  the  unfor- 
tunate passengers  of  the  "  Merry  Andrew  " 
on  the  raft.  There  are  wrecks  6n  land  as 
sad  as  any  in  the  records  of  the  sea. 

Solomon  Fewster,  of  course,  was  profuse 
in  his  regrets  at  the  falling-off  of  the  busi- 
ness, and  oifered  to  lend  Dan  and  Ellen 
money,  which  they  refused.  He  renewed 
his  offer  many  times,  not  offended  at  the 
refusal,  "  He  wants  to  buy  Ellen,"  thought 
Dan  ;  "  but  he  doesn't  know  her.  Jo  said 
once  that  Ellen  was  not  the  kind  of  a  girl 
for  a  heroine.  Would  he  say  so  now,  if  he 
could  see  her,  I  wonder  '?  " 

It  was  in  this  way  that  he  often  thought 
of  Joshua  as  of  one  who  would  be  restored 
to  them  some  day.  He  had  fixed  the  belief 
firmly  in  his  mind,  and  nothing  could  shake 
it.  He  had  no  hope  of  ever  seeing  Minnie 
again.  She  was  as  one  who  had  passed 
out  of  his  Ufe  forever.  But  she  lived  in 
his  mind  and  in  his  heart,  and  came  to  him 
in  his  dreams.  And  in  the  light,  often 
and  often,  he  would  muse  u^wn  her  tender- 
ly and  lovingly. 

So  they  lived  on,  and  the  tide  of  adver- 
sity rose  higher  and  higher,  until  they 
were  compelled  to  begin  to  pawn  things. 
But  a  better  time  was  coming.  The  Old 
Sailor  passing  a  pawn-shop  one  day  in 
Dan's  neighborhood — he  was  on  his  way 
to  Dan's  house  —  saw  Ellen  hurry  out  of 
the  shamefaced  door.  He  was  so  _stao;ger- 
ed  that  he  allowed  her  to  escape  his  sight. 
He  had  had  no  idea  that  things  were  so 
hard  with  them  as  that.  When  he  recov- 
ered himself,  he  gave  his  chest  a  great 
thump,  called  himself  "  a  blind  old  swab," 
and  made  his  way  to  Dan's  house.  He 
went  straight  down  to  the  kitchen,  prying 
old  interloper  as  he  was,  and  caught  Ellen. 
in  the  act  of  counting  a  few  —  very  few  — 
small  pieces  of  silver  and  copper  in  Mrs. 
Marvel's  hand.  He  was  so  distressed,  that 
the  blood  rushed  into  his  face.  He  only 
desired  to  see  Ellen  alone  and  speak  to  her, 
and  here  he  was  shaming  them  in  their  pov- 
erty. The  tender-hearted  old  fellow  was  fit 
to  sink  into  the  ground,  he  was  so  remorse- 
ful. He  stammered  out  a  few  words  of  apol- 
ogy, said  he  thought  Ellen  was  alone,  but 
that  Dan  would  do  as  well.  He  went  up 
to  Dan,  and  to  Dan's  astonishment  locked 
the  door.     Then  he  inclined  his  head  melo- 


dramatically, to  be  sure  that  no  one  was 
listening,  and,  being  satisfied,  drew  a  chair 
close  to  Dan's. 

"  Hark  ye,  my  lad,"  he  said :  "  can  you 
and  I  speak  to  the  point,  and  without  beat- 
ing about  the  bush  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  can,  sir,"  replied  Dan,  smil- 
ing ;  the  Old  Sailor's  voice  always  did  him 
good. 

"  Frankly,  then,"  said  the  Old  Sailor, 
"  do  you  find  it  a  hard  matter  to  live  ?  " 

"  Very  hard,  sir." 

"  No  money  in  the  house,  eh  ?  " 

"None,  sir." 

"  And  business  falling  off?  " 

"  Fallen  off  would  be  more  correct,  sir. 
My  earnings  for  the  last  month  not  more 
than  ten  shillings." 

"  And  Mr.  Marvel  ?  " 

"  About  a  day's  w^rk  in  the  week,  sir." 

"  And  the  money  that  poor  Josh  left  ?  " 

"  All  gone,  sir." 

"  O  Dan !  "  groaned  the  Old  Sailor,  "  why 
wasn't  I  told  of  this  ?  " 

Dan  gave  him  a  sad  look,  but  made  no 
other  reply. 

"  And  the  poor  mother,"  continued  the 
Old  Sailor,  "  how  must  she  have  suffered  ! 
And  Ellen,  poor  lass  !  and  the  little  one ! 
Dan,  Dan  !  if  I  don't  feel  to  you  as  if  you 
were  my  son,  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
be  angry  with  you  !  " 

"  Nay,  sir,"  urged  Dan  gently,  "  you  are 
not  to  blame.  We  are  unfortunate,  that  is 
all.     We  are  not  the  only  ones,  I  dare  say." 

"  Come,  now,  open  your  mind  to  me. 
Look  things  in  the  face.  What  do  you 
see  before  you  this  time  twelve  months  V  " 

The  practical  question  was  hke  a  blow, 
and  Dan  trembled.  The  answer  came 
from  his  reason  in  which  there  was  no 
hope. 

"  What  do  I  see  before  me  this  time 
twelve  months  ?  Worse  poverty  than  this 
—  and  this  is  hard  enough,  God  knows  ! 
We  are  growing  poorer  every  day,  and 
every  day  it  is  a  puzzle  where  to-morrow's 
food  will  come  from.  All  our  friends  have 
fallen  off  from  us ;  when  Ellen  and  Jo's 
mother  go  into  the  streets,  not  one  pleasant 
face  greets  them.  They  come  back,  sad 
and  suffering.  And  they  must  bear  it 
while  they  remain  in  this  neighborhood,  if 
they  are  to  be  true  to  Jo.  1  can  under- 
stand now  how  some  good  people  are  made 
bad  by  the  world's  injustice.  It  won't 
make  them  bad,  I  can  answer  for  that ;  but 
I'm  not  so  sure  of  Mr.  Marvel.  I  haven't 
seen  a  smile  on  his  face  for  months  ;  his 
nature  seems  to  be  completely  changed. 
I  am  almost  afraid  to  think  what  remorse 
might  drive  him  to,  for  he  is  continually  re- 
proaching himself  with  being  the  cause  of 
all  our  misfortunes.     He  says  he  drove  Jo 


ME.   MAEVEL  SHAKES  THE  DUST  FEOM  HIS  FEET, 


199 


to  sea,  when  his  influence  would  have  kept 
him  at  home  ;  and  this  thought  stings  him 
day  and  night.  As  for  me,  1  earn  very 
little  money  now.  And  I  am  so  stupid," 
he  added,  with  an  odd  smile,  yet  thought- 
ful withal,  "  as  to  repine  sometimes  that  we 
can't  live  without  silver  and  copper." 

The  Old  Sailor  dabbed  his  face  with 
his  handkerchief  in  a  state  of  great  excite- 
ment during  this  recital,  and  was  com- 
pelled to  wait  until  he  was  cool  before  he 
said,  "  So,  taking  them  altogether,  things 
are  very  bad." 

"  Taking  them  altogether,  sir,"  said  Dan, 
"I  don't  see  how  they  could  be  worse. 
We  have  only  one  consolation." 

"  What  is  that,  Dan  ?  "  asked  the  Old 
Sailor  eagerly,  with  a  faint  hope  that  it 
was  something  tangible. 

"  Our  faith  in  Jo,  and  our  knowledge 
that  he  is  good  and  true,  as  we  have  always 
known  him  to  be.     Poor  Jo  !  " 
The  Old  Sailor  groaned. 
"  You  can't  live  on  that,  Dan,"  he  said. 
"No,  sir,"  replied  Dan  with   rare    sim- 
plicity ;  "  but  it  is  a  great  comfort,  never- 
theless." 

The  Old  Sailor  pressed  Dan's  hand. 
"  'Tisn't  so  bad  a  world,"  he  murmured 
more  to  himself  than  to  Dan,  "  despite  its 
injustice."  Then  aloud  :  "  What  would  be 
the  best  thing  for  all  of  you  to  do,  Dan,  un- 
der the  circumstances  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  thing,  sir ;  and  I 
might  as  well  wish  for  cheese  from  the 
moon  as  wish  for  that." 

"  Perhaps  not,  Dan,  perhaps  not.  Tell 
your  wish." 

"  I  want  some  money." 
"  Ah  !  how  much  V  " 

"  Enough  to  take  us  to  Australia,  where 
we  could  commence  a  new  life." 

"  You  hinted  at  that  some  time  ago, 
Dan." 

«  Yes,  su"." 

"  That's  what  you  meant  when  you  said 
you  wanted  a  friend  ?  " 
"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  I  took  no  notice  of  it,  like  a  hard- 
hearted old  hunks  as  I  am.     Do  you  know 
why  I  took  no  notice  of  it,  Dan  V  " 
"  No,  sir." 

"  Because  I  didn't  want  to  part  from  you 
—  because  I  didn't  want  to  lose  the  only 
friends  I  have  in  the  world  —  because  I 
thought  only  of  myself,  and  how  lonely  I 
should  feel  when  you  and  my  little  Ellen 
and  the  good  mother  were  thousands  of 
miles  away.  Well,  well !  Old  as  I  am,  I'm 
not  too  old  to  learn  from  younger  heads. 
Look  you,  my  lad  !  But  stop  —  we'll  have 
the  women  up." 

The  Old  Sailor  went  down  into  the 
kitchen  where  Ellen  and  Mrs.  Marvel  were, 


and   took   a   hand  of  each,  and  led  them 
gravely  up  stairs  into  Dan's  room. 

"  This  is  a  family  council,  my  dears,"  he 
said,  kissing  them,  "  where  we  are  to  speak 
our  minds  without  hesitation.  Dan  has 
been  making  things  ch'ar  to  me,  and  I  see 
a  good  deal  to  which  I've  been  blind,  self- 
ishly blind,  more  shame  to  me.  ^Micn  the 
storm  came  on,  I  had  an  idea  that  you  might 
be  able  to  weather  it ;  but  you  were  not 
strong  enough,  and  human  hearts  have  not 
beeji  so  kind  to  you  as  winds  and  waves  are. 
The  winds  howl  to-day,  but  a  calm  comes 
to-morrow  ;  the  waves  dash  over  you  for  a 
time,  but  presently  the  sea  grows  smooth. 
That's  at  sea ;  'tis  different  on  land  some- 
times. You  have  found  it  so,  my  dears, 
eh?" 

They  sighed  assent,  and  waited  in  a  state 
of  painful  expectancy  for  what  was  to  come. 

"  And  here  you  are  with  every  sail  split, 
with  every  spar  broken,  with  bulwarks 
dashed  in,  and  every  thing  adrift.  And 
around  you  cruel  tongues  and  unjust  hearts. 
What !  with  all  this  craft  in  view,  won't 
one  come  forward,  and  ask.  What  cheer? 
Not  one?  And  yet  you've  held  out  a  help- 
ing hand  many  a  time,  my  dear  "  (to  Mrs. 
Marvel),  "  as  I  well  know,  and  spared  a 
spar  here  and  a  bit  of  canvas  there,  with 
a  willing  heart  and  a  free  hand.  But  you 
are  pearls,  you  women,  and  teach  us  good- 
ness. The  Lord  love  you,  and  send  you 
happier  days !  " 

He  almost  broke  down  here  ;  but  he  re- 
covered himself  by  a  great  effort,  and 
continued,  somewhat  huskily  at  first  :  — 

"  Ah,  my  dears,  I've  been  in  storms,  but 
never  a  worse  than  this  has  been  to  you. 
Look  up,  my  lass  !  "  he  cried  to  Ellen,  and 
pointing  upwards  to  the  dingy  paper  ceil- 
ing in  so  earnest  a  tone  that  he  found  all 
of  them  followed  the  direction  of  his  finger, 
while  a  new-born  hope  entered  their  hearts. 
"  Look  up  !  D'ye  see  the  clouds  a-breaking  ? 
D'ye  see  the  sun  tipping  the  edges  with 
white  light  ?  If  you  don't,  take  my  word 
for  it,  the  storm's  over,  and  a  friendly  craft 
is  bearing  down  upon  you."  He  paused 
awhile  before  he  spoke  again.  " '  You  see,' 
says  Dan  to  me,  '  what  we  want  is  a  friend.' 
Says  Ellen  to  me,  the  very  same  day, 
'  You're  the  only  friend  we've  got.'  What 
did  I  do  ?  Clap  on  sail  and  bear  down 
upon  you  ?     Not  I !  " 

"  Nay,  sir,"  interposed  Dan. 
"  Hold  your  tongue,  Dan ;  I  deserve  to 
have  the  cat  for  my  behavior.  Now,  hark 
ye.  Before  my  poor  lass  here  was  married 
to  Josh  —  don't  cry,  my  dear  —  I  made 
over  my  little  bit  of  money  to  them  jointly, 
for  better  or  worse.  I  dare  say  it  will  come 
to  a  matter  of  two  hundred  pounds.  Will 
that  be  enough,  Dan  V  " 


200 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


Dan's  sobs  prevented  a  reply,  and  the 
women  sat  silently  thankful. 

"  So  look  upon  that  as  settled,"  said  the 
Old  Sailor,  rising ;  "  and  make  your  ar- 
rangements. I'll  see  what  ships  are  going 
out,  and  '11  let  you  know  to-morrow." 

He  left  the  room  abruptly,  unable  to  bear 
the  thankful  looks  and  tears  of  his  friends. 
Besides  which,  he  was  almost  unmanned  at 
the  thought  of  parting  from  them.  They 
were  the  only  friends  he  had  in  the  world, 
as  he  had  said ;  and  when  they  were  gone, 
he  would  be  left  lonely  in  his  old  age.  The 
thought  flashed  across  him  to  go  with  them, 
but  he  dismissed  it  at  once.  Not  only  was 
he  too  old  to  cross  the  seas,  but  he  felt  he 
could  not  leave  his  barge  near  the  old 
Tower  Stairs. 

"  I  should  be  like  a  fish  out  of  water," 
he  thought ;  "  and  besides,  I  should  only  be 
an  encumbrance  to  the  poor  souls.  I  shall 
be  in  my  dotage  soon,  and  they  have  trou- 
bles enough  of  their  own.  No ;  I'll  stop 
and  lay  my  bones  in  Old  England." 

So  the  faithful  old  soul  set  to  work  at 
once,  and  left  himself  with  the  very  barest 
pittance  to  live  on,  in  order  to  get  together 
sufficient  money  for  the  necessities  of  his 
friends. 

The  news  so"on  spread.  Some  of  the 
neighbors  said  it  was  a  good  job  they  were 
going  ;  some  were  envious ;  and  a  few  re- 
pented of  their  harshness.  These  last 
went  so  far  as  to  make  slight  advances  to- 
wards Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marvel.  ^Mr.  Marvel 
looked  at  them  angrily,  and  responded  with 
hard  words  ;  but  his  wife,  a  true  peace- 
maker, was  more  conciliatory.  When  she 
remonstrated  with  him,  and  begged  him  to 
consider  that  they  were  sorry  because  they 
had  concurred  in  the  general  verdict  of 
condemnation  of  Joshua,  he  said,  — 

"  Let  be,  Maggie ;  if  they're  sorry  for 
what  the've  said  aljout  Josh,  the  more 
shame  for  them  for  hurting  us  as  they  did. 
You  can  do  as  you  like  ;  I  sha'n't  mind  your 
shaking  hands  with  them.  But  for  me,  I've 
said  I'll  never  forgive  them,  and  I  never 
will."  When  Susan  was  told  that  they 
were  going  to  Australia,  her  dull  vacant 
face  suddenly  lit  up. 

"  We  shall  be  near  /u'm,"  she  muttered ; 
"  near  Minnie  too.  Poor  Minnie !  where  is 
she  ?  " 

The  next  moment  her  old  manner  was 
upon  her,  and  she  relapsed  into  vacancy 
again. 

But  there  was  one  by  whom  the  news  of 
their  intended  departure  was  received  with 
a  chill  of  angry  despair.  Solomon  Fewster 
could  scarcely  believe  it  when  he  was  told. 
He  hurried  to  the  house,  blaming  himself 
for  his  stupidity  in  trying  to  starve  Ellen 
into  acquiescence. 


"  This  would  never  have  come  about," 
he  thought,  "  if  they  had  not  been  driven 
to  it  by  necessity.  I  ought  to  have  shown 
myself  a  greater  friend  than  ever  to  Dan. 
Gratitude  would  have  made  Ellen  love 
me." 

To  obtain  Ellen's  love  had  become  a 
mania  with  him.  The  farther  she  was  re- 
moved from  him,  the  stronger  grew  his  de- 
sire. "  Perhaps  it  is  not  yet  too  late,"  he 
thought.  He  broke  into  Dan's  room  in 
feverish  haste,  and  cried,  — 

"  Good  news,  Dan  1  I've  got  a  customer 
for  four  birds,  and  he  wants  them  at  once." 

''  Here  are  two  bullfinches  and  two  ca- 
naries," replied  Dan  with  a  queer  smile  ;  "  I 
thought  you  would  have  wanted  them  ear- 
lier. I  have  others  ready,  if  )'ou  want 
more." 

"I'll  take  them  by  and  by,"  said  Solo- 
mon Fewster ;  and  then  treated  Dan  to  a 
long  account  of  the  late  dulness  and  the 
expected  revival  of  trade,  and  to  the  cer- 
tain prospect  of  there  being  a  great  demand 
for  Dan's  birds  presently.  Dan  listened  in 
silence,  and  discomfited  Solomon  Fewster 
by  charging  a  higher  price  than  usual  for 
the  bullfinches  and  canaries.  Solomon 
Fewster  thought  it  would  be  fatal  to  hesi- 
tate, and  he  paid  the  money  with  apparent 
willingness ;  and  Dan  gave  another  queer 
little  smile  as  he  put  the  money  in  his 
pocket.  Then  Fewster  referred  to  the 
rumor,  and  Dan  said  it  was  true. 

"  We  shall  sail  in  about  a  month,"  said 
Dan. 

"  But  why  go  at  all  ?  "  asked  Fewster. 

"  We  are  not  able  to  get  a  living  here, 
sir,"  said  Dan.  He  did  not  tell  everybody 
cf  his  fancy  about  Joshua. 

"If  that's  your  only  reason,"  urged 
Fewster,  "  stop,  and  let  me  be  your  friend. 
I  promise  that  you  shall  never  want, 
especially  if — if" — 

But  he  could  not  get  the  intended  ref- 
erence to  Ellen  gracefully  off  his  tongue. 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Dan  ;  "  but 
nothing  that  you  can  say  can  keep  us 
here." 

At  this  point  Mr.  Marvel  entered,  and 
Fewster  left.  Between  the  two  men  there 
had  been  an  utter  absence  of  cordiality 
since  Fewster's  overtures  respecting  Ellen. 
Besides,  Mc.  Marvel  had  suspected  why 
Fewster's  commissions  for  birds  had  fallen 
off,  and  had  made  Dan  acquainted  with  his 
suspicions ;  and  this,  indeed,  was  the  rea- 
son why  Dan,  whose  eyes  were  open  to 
Fewster's  meanness,  had  taken  a  secret 
pleasure  in  charging  him  a  high  price  for 
his  present  purchase. 

Solomon  Fewster  tried  by  every  means 
to  induce  them  to  stay,  but  his  efforts  were 
unavailing.     The  passages  were  taken,  the 


ME.  MARVEL  SHAKES  THE  DUST  FEOM  HIS  FEET. 


201 


day  was  fixed.  Tlie  Old  Sailor  made 
special  arrang;ements  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  Dan's  birds  on  board  ship,  and  Dan 
bought  a  ninnbcr  of  young  songsters  to 
train  on  the  voyage  out,  although  the  Old 
Sailor  shook  his  head  ami  expressed  grave 
doubts  whether  the  birds  would  live.  As 
the  day  of  departure  appi'oached,  the  ex- 
citement in  the  neighborhood  grew  stronger, 
and  public  opinion  veered  steadily  round 
in  favor  of  the  Marvels.  The  band  of  the 
remorseful  ones  received  fresh  recruits  daily, 
until,  when  the  day  arrived,  there  were  not 
a  dozen  of  the  neighbors  who  were  not 
sorry  for  the  judgment  that  had  been  pro- 
nounced against  Joshua,  and  who  did  not, 
in  one  way  or  another,  give  exjiression  to 
their  sorrow.  Mr.  Marvel  would  not  listen 
to  them  ;  the  others  did,  and  took  pleasure 
in  listening  to  apologies  which  were  in  some 
sort  a  vindication  of  Joshua's  character. 
But  Mr.  Marvel  declared  bitterly  that  he 
would  shake  the  dust  from  his  shoes  the 
day  he  left  Stepney,  and  that  he  was  only 
too  thankful  to  escape  from  the  nest  of 
vipers. 

"  You  women,"  he  said,  "  are  too  soft- 
hearted for  justice  :  if  a  scoundrel  who  has 
wronged  you  comes  crying  to  you,  you  look 
kindly  on  him,  and  cry  with  him,  out  of 
the  tenderness  of  your  hearts.  But  for  me, 
when  I  think  of  the  many  years  we've  lived 
here,  with  never  a  black  mark  against  us 
—  when  I  think  of  the  good  turns  we've 
done  for  this  one  and  that  one,  and  of  the 
manner  in  which  they  have  returned  our 
good  ofhces,  I'm  fit  to  choke  with  passion. 
They  tried  to  disgrace  me,  and  would  have' 
seen  us  starve  without  offei'ing  us  bit  or 
sup.  But  now  that  we're  going,  well  ofi" 
as  they  think,  they  come  whining  round  us, 
sorry  for  the  mud  they  threw  at  us.  The 
mud  didn't  stick,  that's  one  comfort.  I 
could  dash  my  fist  in  their  faces  when  I 
think  of  it !  " 

So  matters  went  on  until  the  morning 
came  when  they  were  to  go  aboard  the  sfhip 
at  Blackwall.  They  had  a  few  little  odds 
and  ends  to  take  with  them,  and  a  cart  was 
at  the  door  to  convey  them  to  the  docks. 
All  the  women  and  children  in  the  neigh- 
borhood flocked  round  the  cart  to  see  the 
last  of  the  emigrants.  First  Ellen,  with 
her  child,  got  in  ;  the  women  kissed  their 
hands  to  her,  and  murmured  to  each  other 
that  she  looked  older  than  her  years. 
Ellen's  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears  as  she 
looked  up  at  the  old  house  and  at  the  famil- 
iar faces  in  the  crowd.  Susan  was  the 
next :  she  looked  vacantly  at  the  throng, 
and  turned  her  eyes  to  her  lap,  taking  no 
further  heed  of  them.  Dan  followed  with 
his  birds,  and  listened  gravely,  and  not 
without  tenderness,  to  the  farewells  which 


greeted  him.     After    him    came    Mr.   and 
Mrs.  Marvel. 

"  Good-by,  my  dear ;  God  bless  you  1 
God  take  you  safely  over,  my  dear  !  " 

In  twenty  dillerent  ways  were  these  fare- 
wells and  good  wishes  expressed,  and  Mrs. 
Marvel  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  heart, 
and  sobbed  till  she  could  not  distinguish  a 
face  in  the  crowd  that  surrounded  her. 

"  Get  in  INIaggie,"  said  George  Marvel ; 
and  then,  delil)erately  and  gravely,  stooped 
and  took  ofi"  his  shoes.  lie  climbed  into 
the  cart  in  liis  stockings,  and  bending  over 
the  wheel,  shook  the  dust  from  his  shoes. 
"  I'll  take  no  dust  from  here  with  me,"  he 
said  in  a  louil  tone  ;  "  I  leave  that  and  your 
lying  words  behind  me.  I  loved  you  once, 
and  loved  these  streets ;  but  I've  hated  you 
and  them  from  the  time  you  turned  upon 
us  and  made  our  lives  bitterer  than  mis- 
fortune had  already  made  them.  By  and 
by,  you  can  tell  the  men  I've  worked  with 
and  been  kind  to,  that  I  was  glad  to  go 
from  the  place  where  I  was  born,  and  that 
I  shook  the  dust  from  my  feet  before  I  went 
away." 

Then,  amid  a  dead  silence,  the  cart  lum- 
bered away  from  Stepney  on  to  Blackwall. 
There  they  found  the  Old  Sailor  waiting  for 
them.  "  I  will  keep  with  you  until  you  are 
fairly  off,"  he  said.  They  were  thankful 
enough  for  his  company,  and  as  he  did  what 
he  could  to  cheer  them,  and  they  had  plenty 
of  work  to  do  in  their  cabins,  they  soon  be- 
came more  cheerful  and  hopeful  than  they 
had  been  for  many  a  day.  Soon  the  ship 
was  at  Gravescnd,  a  place  fraught  with  sad 
and  sweet  memories  —  for  Ellen  especially. 
Mrs.  Friswell,  at  whose  house  the  wedding 
was  celebrated,  came  aboard  to  see  them, 
and  admired  the  baby,  and  whispered  to  all 
of  them,  in  turns,  that  if  there  ever  lived  a 
man  with  a  heart  tender  enough  tor  twenty 
men,  that  man  was  the  Old  Sailor,  and  no 
other.  No  need  to  say  with  what  hearti- 
ness they  all  indorsed  this  sentiment. 

A  surprise  awaited  them.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  ship's  sailing,  there  came  climb- 
ing up  the  side  Solomon  Fewster.  He  ao- 
costed  them  gayly. 

"  You  were  wondering,  I  dare  say,  why  1 
hadn't  been  to  wish  you  good-by." 

"  We  thought  you  would  be  sui-e  to  come, 
althou<rh  at  the  last  moment,"  answered 
Dan.  ° 

Solomon  Fewster  first  rubbed  his  hands 
and  then  his  chin. 

"  No  need  to  say  good-by,"  he  said,  Avith 
a  conscious  look  at  Ellen  ;  "  I  am  going 
with  you." 

They  were  too  much  astonished  to  re- 
ply. 

"Yes,"  he  continued;  "when  my  best 
friends  were  going,  I  didn't  Uke  the  idea  of 


202 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


stopping  behind.  So  I've  sold  my  business 
upon  capital  terms  —  capital  terms.  A  good 
sum  down,  and  a  share  in  the  profits  for  the 
next  ten  years.  Shall  be  able  to  make 
plenty  of  money  in  Australia,  eh,  Mr.  Med- 
dler ?  " 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  the  Old 
Sailor,  with  a  disturbed  look. 

Solomon  Fewster,  divining  that  his  ab- 
sence would  be  agreeable  to  them,  hurried 
away  to  look  after  his  boxes. 

"  I  am  sorry  he's  going,"  said  Dan  ;  "  but 
it  can't  be  helped.  We  must  make  the  best 
of  every  thing,  not  the  worst." 

In  the  tender  conversation  that  ensued, 
consequent  upon  their  parting  from  the 
Old  Sailor,  Solomon  Fewster  was  for- 
gotten. 

"  Write  to  me  as  often  as  you  can,"  said 
the  Old  Sailor,  "  and  I  will  do  the  same  to 
you,  though  my  old  joints  are  getting  stiff. 
You'll  soon  be  settled  down  somewhere, 
and  you  can  let  me  know.  'Tis  a  sad  word 
—  good-by.  But  I  shall  soon  be  saying 
good-by  to  all  the  world,  my  dears." 

He  sat  among  them  until  the  last  mo- 
ment, and  first  wished  Susan  good-by. 

Tlien  said  George  Marvel,  as  he  and  the 
Old  Sailor  stood  hand  in  hand,  amidst  the 
confusion  of  ropes  and  cases,  "  If  there  had 
been  hearts  like  yours  among  our  neigh- 
bors, my  poor  Josh's  name  would  not  have 
been  blackened.  Heaven  will  reward  you. 
I  couldn't  honor  my  own  father  more  than 
I  honor  you." 

The  Old  Sailor  quivered  at  the  stroke  ; 
he  could  better  have  stood  a  hard  knock. 
He  kissed  Ellen  tenderly,  and  she  him ; 
and  he  put  a  ribbon  round  baby's  neck 
with  a  little  silver  whistle  at  the  end  of  it. 
"  In  memory  of  me,  my  dear,"  he  said. 

'•  I  will  teach  her  that  it  is  the  symbol  of 
the  heart  of  a  good  man,  dear  sir,"  said  El- 
len, her  eyes  full  of  tears ;  "  and  when  she 
is  an  old  woman  —  if  she  lives  to  be  such  — 
it  may  happen  that  she  will  show  it  to  her 
children,  and  tell  them  her  mother's  sad 
story,  and  how  her  life  was  sweetened  by 
the  kindest,  dearest,  best "  —  Sobs  choked 
her  voice. 

The  Old  Sailor  waited  a  while  until  she 
recovered,  and  then  said,  with  exquisite 
tenderness,  — 

"  If  she  will  sound  the  whistle  sometimes 
when  she  is  a  young  woman,  and  I  am  in 
my  grave,  I  shall  hear  her  perhaps."  He 
smiled  thoughtl'uUy  at  this  conceit.  And 
then  iblded  Ellen  in  his  arms,  and  saying, 
"  God  bless  yoii,  my  lass  !  "  released  her  and 
turned  to  Dan  and  Mrs.  Marvel.  She  took 
his  hand  and  kissed  it ;  she  could  have 
knelt  to  him,  her  heart  was  so  fiill  —  too 
full  to  speak. 

"  I  know,  I  know,  my  dear,"  he  said,  and 


kissed  her.  "  I  asked  you  once  if  you 
would  like  to  be  a  sailor,  Dan ;  do  you  re- 
member ?  "  His  arm  was  resting  on  Dan's 
shoulder,  and  Dan  drew  it  round  his  neck 
and  laid  his  face  upon  it.  The  action  con- 
veyed such  tender  meaning,  that  the  tears 
rolled  down  the  Old  Sailor's  cheeks. 

"  When  I  see  Joe,"  said  Dan,  "  I  may  tell 
him  that  you  never  doubted  him  '?  " 

"  Ay,  Dan,"  replied  the  Old  Sailor  aloud  ; 
but  thought,  "  I  shall  see  him  before  you  do, 
my  lad."  He  would  not  disturb  Dan's  faith 
by  uttering  the  thought. 

"  Do  I  remember  your  asking  if  1  would 
like  to  be  a  sailor  ?  "  continued  Dan.  "  Ah, 
yes  !  what  of  that  day  can  I  ever  forget  ? 
You  taught  me  to  splice  a  rope,  and  I 
showed  you  Jo's  heart  and  mine  spliced,  so 
that  nothing  could  sever  them.  And  the 
poor  birds  shipwrecked,  as  Jo  is.  We  little 
thought  then,  did  we,  sir?"  The  Old 
Sailor  grasped  Dan's  hand,  and  the  next 
minute  was  in  his  boat ;  and  the  ship  was 
swinging  round,  hiding  him  from  the  loving 
gaze  of  his  friends. 

Through  the  river  that  runs  to  the  sea 
the  ship  makes  its  way  slowly  and  grandly. 
In  the  ship's  stern,  looking  with  dimmed 
eyes  over  the  bulwarks,  are  Dan  and  El- 
len and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marvel.  Good- 
by,  dear  friend !  Good-by,  dear  heart ! 
Smaller  and  smaller  grows  the  ship  in  his 
eyes.  Can  they  see  him  still  ?  he  is  lost 
in  the  whirl  of  boats.  No ;  he  is  standing 
up,  cap  in  hand.  Good-by,  faithful  simple 
heart,  richer  in  your  honest  goodness  than 
if  you  were  endowed  with  all  the  jewels 
that  lie  concealed  in  earth's  dejjths.  He 
is  lost  to  them  now,  and  they  shall  see  him 
no  more  —  here  ! 

Lost?  No.  He  is  with  them  every  night 
in  their  prayers  —  he  dwells  in  their  hearts. 
To  their  dying  days  they  think  of  him  ten- 
derly.    Blessings  on  the  dear  Old  Sailor  I 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

so   NEAR  AND   YET   SO   FAR. 

"  Minnie  ! " 

"  Yes,  Joshua." 

"  That  is  all  5  I  thought  you  were 
asleep." 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  me,  Joshua.  I 
feel  a  little  better  to-day,  I  think." 

"  That's  a  good  hearing,  Minnie.  Get 
strong,  my  dear,  for  my  sake." 

"  All !  If  I  could ;  but  I  fear  —  I  fear." 
(This  last  to  herself,  under  her  breath.) 
"  Sit  nearer,  Joshua." 


so  NEAR,  AND  YET  SO  FAR. 


203 


Many  moons  hnd  passed,  and  with  the 
exception   that    IMinnie   had    grown   very 
weak,  only  one  event    of  importance  had 
occurred    shice   the   departure   of  Rough- 
and-Ready  and    Tom  the  saihnaker.    Tliat 
event  was   the   death   of  the  Lascar ;  and 
the  discovery  made  a  deep  impression  on 
Joshua.    It  oecm'red  within  a  few  weeks  of 
the   parting    of  the  tribes.     The   tribe  of 
which  Opara  was  the  chief,  observing  that 
Minnie  was  drooping,  resolved  to  return  to 
the  spot  where  they  had  found  her.     By 
easy  stages  they  travelled  near  to  the  rocks 
where  the  castaways  had  landed,  and  rest- 
ed there  some  days,  in  the  belief  that  Min- 
nie would  regain  her  health.    The  mysteri- 
ous influence  she  had  over  them  was  never 
weakened,  and  as  she  and  Joshua  were  insep- 
arable, he  shared  in   the  favor  which  was 
shown   to  her.     She    saw  this,  and  would 
not  allow  him  to  cjuit  her  side,  fearful  lest 
harm  should  betall  him.     One  evening  she 
and  Joshua  had  wandered  from  the  native 
camp  to   the   pool  where   the  Lascar  had 
stolen   u])on    him,   with   the    intention  of 
killing  him  ;   and  they  talked  together  of 
the  villain,    and  wondered  what   had   be- 
come of  him.     They  saw  a  wonderful  sight 
as  they  sat  and  talked.     From  the  distant 
woods   rose   an    immense   army   of  flying 
foxes,  not  less  than  four  or  five  thousand 
in  number,  flying  in  a  straight  line  to    a 
distant  pool.     When  they  arrived  over  the 
water,  they  dipped  down  to  drink  in  regu- 
lar order,  keeping  their  ranks,  so  that  pres- 
ently they  presented  the  shape  of  a  perfect 
curve.    Joshua  and  Minnie  watched  the  sin- 
gular flight  until  the  last  of  the  animals  had 
satisfied   its  thirst ;  shortly  afterwards  the 
entire  flock  disappeared.  As  they  retraced 
their  steps  to  the  native  camp,  Joshua  ob- 
served   something    unusual    lying   on  the 
ground.  It  looked  like  a  crouching  animal, 
and  Joshua  drew  ilinnie  aside  fearing  that  it 
might  be  a  dangerous  creature  ;   but  it  re- 
mained   perfectly  still,  and  Joshua,  drawn 
thereto  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  slowly  ap- 
proached the  spot.     To  his  horror  he  tbund 
that  it  was  a  human  creature  —  dead  ;  and 
turning  the  face  recognized  the  Lascar.    So  ! 
his  enemy  was  dead,  and  this  was  the  end 
of  his   animosity.      The  circumstances  of 
the  eventful  meeting  when  he  had  rescued 
Susan  from  the  Lascar's  pursuit  came    to 
Joshua's  mind  as  he  looked  upon  the  dead 
form.     "  His   hate  of  me  would   not   have 
lived  so  long,"  thought  Joshua,  "  if  it  had 
not  been  fed  by  other  means.     Whom  did 
he  reier  to  when  he  spoke  of  his  master 
the  day  he  stole  upon  me  with  the  stone  ? 
But  that  is   past   discovery   now ! "     The 
dead  man's  face  was  distorted  by  agony,  as 
if  he  had  died  in  torture,  and  Joshua  look- 
ed around  for  the  cause  of  death.     There 


were  a  variety  of  trees  near  the  spot  — 
among  them  some  stinging  trees.  Jo.shua 
knew  the  fatal  effect  of  the  deadly  tree,  and 
divined  that  the  Lascar  had  fallen  from  one 
of  the  higher  trees,  which  he  must  have 
climbed  in  search  of  food,  into  the  poison- 
ous nettles,  and  so  been  stung  to  death. 
He  could  not  have  been  dead  above  a  few 
hours.  Joshua  turned  away,  and  told  Min- 
nie. 

"  You  will  not  leave  him  there  unburied, 
Joshua  ?  "  said  Minnie. 

"  No,  Minnie,  it  would  not  be  right.  He 
was  our  enemy,  but  there  is  an  end  to  all 
that  now.  Sit  down  on  this  trunk,  my 
dear,  and  I  will  be  kinder  to  him  in  death 
than  he  was  to  me  in  life."  With  his  knife 
and  a  stout  stick  he  removed  sufficient  soil 
to  lay  the  dead  man  in  ;  as  he  moved  the 
body,  a  silver  watch  fell  from  a  pocket. 
Joshua  picked  it  up,  and  involuntarily- 
opened  it.  There  was  an  inscription  on 
the  case,  roughly  scratched  in,  and  Joshua 
read,  "  From  Solomon  Fewster  to  his 
Lascar  li-Iend."  Joshua's  heart  beat  loud- 
ly as  he  read  these  words.  He  felt  that  he 
was  on  the  eve  of  a  discovery.  "  They 
knew  each  other,"  he  thought  in  amaze- 
ment ;  and  then,  like  a  flash,  it  came  upon 
him  that  Solomon  Fewster  was  the  master 
for  whom  the  Lascar  said  he  was  workiu'T. 
Eagerly  he  searched  the  Lascar's  pockets 
for  more  evidence  ;  and  found  it  in  the 
shape  of  the  following  document :  "  To  my 
Lascar  friend :  I  give  you  twenty-five 
pounds  in  gold,  and  a  silver  watch  and 
two  knives  for  services  you  have  rendered 
me  in  connection  with  J.  M.  And  I  prom- 
ise you  twenty-five  pounds  more  in  gold,  if, 
when  you  return  in  the  '  Merry  Andrew,' 
you  have  accomplished  what  has  been 
agreed  upon  between  us.  —  S.  F." 

Joshua  read  this  document  twice,  and 
then  looked  round,  as  if  in  expectation  of 
meeting  Solomon  Fewster  fiice  to  face. 

"  Let  me  fix  the  villain's  features  in  my 
mind,"  he  thought;  "I  will  raise  him  before 
me,  so  that  when  we  meet,  in  this  world  or 
the  next,  I  may  bring  his  treachery  home 
to  him."  With  the  eyes  of  his  mind  he 
saw  Solomon  Fewster's  false  face,  and  he 
dashed  his  fist  into  the  air  with  a  loud  cry. 
"  Fool !  "  he  muttered,  recovei-ing  himself; 
"  am  I  growing  as  much  a  savage  as  those 
amongst  whom  I  live  ?  Was  it  Fewster  or 
this  villain  who  stabbed  me  when  I  came 
home  ?  "  He  looked  down,  and  seemed  to 
find  his  answer.  "  It  was  your  hand  that 
struck  the  blow,  and  he  employed  you.  He 
was  too  much  of  a  coward  to  do  it  himself, 
and  he  paid  you  for  your  services  as  you 
have  told  me.  And  he  wanted  to  get  me 
out  of  the  way,  so  that  he  might  win  the 
love  of  my  Ellen."     A  bitter  smile  came  to 


204 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL, 


his  lips,  passed  away,  and  a  sweeter  ex- 
pression took  its  place.  "  To  win  the  love 
of  my  Ellen  !  No,  he  can  never  do  that ; 
she  is  mine  till  death,  and  after  it,  and  is 
as  true  to  me  as  I  am  to  her.  Ellen,  dear 
wife  !  hear  me,  and  be  comtbrted." 

Concealed  beneath  his  covering  of  fur, 
was  a  small  bag,  made  of  stout  skin,  well 
dried,  containing  Ellen's  portrait,  her  lock 
of  hair,  Dan's  Bible,  and  the  page  from 
Captain  Liddle's  log-book,  appointing  him 
captain.  Into  this  bag  he  put  the  silver 
watch  and  Fewster's  document. 

•'  Rest  there,"  he  muttered.  "  When  I 
am  dead,  chance  may  direct  these  relics 
into  the  hands  of  my  friends.  I  will  write 
a  statement  myself  of  certain  things,  and 
place  it  with  these.  Be  merciful,  O  God  ! 
and  keep  firm  the  faith  of  my  friends." 

The  appeal  was  like  a  prayer,  and  its 
utterance  soothed  him.  He  laid  the  Las- 
car's body  in  the  shallow  grave,  and  covered 
it  as  well  as  he  could  with  earth  and  leaves 
and  branches.  Then  he  returned  to  Min- 
nie, and  they  walked  to  the  camp.  He  did 
not  tell  her  of  his  discovery.  It  would 
have  made  her  more  unhappy. 

On  another  occasion  they  were  sitting  to- 
gether in  the  woods,  in  silence  and  resig- 
nation. They  had  sat  so  for  full  half  an 
hour,  and  not  a  word  had  passed  between 
them;  their  thoughts  were  with  their 
friends,  thousands  of  miles  away.  Sud- 
denly there  came  to  their  ears  the  tinkle 
of  a  bell.  They  started,  and  looked  at 
each  other  in  wonder.  A  wild  hope 
entered  Joshua's  heart.  The  sound  was 
faint  but  distinct.  It  was  like  an  evidence 
of  approaching  civilization.  Presently  it 
sounded  again,  and  was  followed  by  other 
bells  of  different  tones,  but  each  note  being 
clearly  uttered.  Tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle !  till 
the  woods  were  filled  with  music.  Creep- 
ing slowly  and  softly  in  the  direction  of  the 
sounds,  they  discovered  the  cause.  The 
sounds  were  not  produced,  as  they  had 
hoped,  by  bells  on  the  necks  of  cattle,  but 
by  a  congregation  of  small  birds  of  a  green- 
ish-yellow color,  who,  perched  upon  the 
branches  of  trees,  in  a  spot  where  the  trees 
tbrmed  a  circle,  were  singing  to  each  other 
their  sweetest  songs.  Disturbed  by  the 
approach  of  footsteps,  the  birds  hid  them- 
selves among  the  leaves,  and  were  silent ; 
but  Minnie  and  Joshua  remained  perfectly 
still,  and  soon  the  sweet  sounds  were  heard 
again,  and  the  concert  was  resumed,  to  the 
delight  of  the  hearers. 

For  many  evenings  after  this  Joshua  and 
Minnie  came  to  the  spot  to  listen  to  the 
melody  of  the  bell-birds.  It  was  on  one  of 
these  evenings  that  an  idea  in  association 
with  the  birds  presented  itself  to  Joshua. 
Why  should  he  not  employ  a  little  of  his 


idle  time  in  training  some  of  the  birds  with 
which  the  beautiful  woods  abounded,  as 
Dan  and  he  used  to  do  in  their  boyish  days  ? 
He  trembled  with  delight  at  the  thought, 
and  was  eager  to  begin.  It  seemed  to 
bring  him  nearer  to  Dan  and  the  beloved 
ones  at  home.  He  told  Minnie  of  his 
fancy,  and  she  encouraged  it.  He  would 
set  about  it  at  once ;  but  first  he  must 
make  a  cage.  He  made  one  of  wicker- 
work,  sufficiently  large  to  hold  a  score  of 
birds ;  and  in  a  very  little  while  his  cage 
was  inhabited  by  birds  as  beautiful  and 
almost  as  docile  as  any  he  had  taught  at 
home. 

All  this  while  they  were  allowed  by  the 
natives  to  do  pretty  well  what  they  pleased. 
Food  was  supplied  to  them  regularly,  and 
they  were  not  expected  to  work  or  hunt  for 
it.  Scarcely  a  night  passed  without  Joshua 
played  his  accordion  in  the  shade  of  their 
hut,  and  the  singular  fancy  which  the 
natives  entertained  respecting  Minnie  was 
strengthened  by  these  mysterious  melodious 
sounds.  From  time  to  time  the  natives 
shifted  their  camp,  according  to  the  seasons, 
and  they  invariably  regulated  their  day's 
walking  by  Minnie's  strength.  Uncultured 
and  savage  as  these  ignorant  creatures 
were,  they  were  tender  and  kind  to  Minnie 
and  Joshua,  and  showed  them  a  thousand 
little  attentions  which  could  only  have  been 
prompted  by  the  most  delicate  considera^ 
tion.  Joshua's  fancy  about  the  birds  was 
quite  a  natural  thing  in  their  eyes.  Min- 
nie wanted  the  birds  to  talk  to  ;  she  under- 
stood the  mysterious  voices  of  birds  and 
trees.  Their  reverence  for  her  was  in- 
creased when  they  saw  her  one  day  with  a 
golden-crowned  honey-sucker  upon  her  fin- 
ger. This  was  one  of  the  first  birds  which 
Joshua  had  tamed  ;  he  was  careful  to  give 
it  its  favorite  food,  —  the  blossoms  of  the 
blue  gum-tree  when  it  was  in  flower,  and  at 
all  times  honey  and  sweet  leaves,  and  had 
anticipated  the  effect  it  would  produce 
upon  the  natives,  when  they  saw  it  perch- 
ing contentedly  upon  Minnie's  finger. 

"See!"  said  Opara,  "the  birds  know 
our  Star ;  she  talks  to  them  the  language 
of  the  trees.  From  us  they  fly,  and  hide 
themselves  in  clouds ;  but  she  bids  them 
come,  and  they  rest  upon  her  bosom." 

Soon  other  birds  were  tamed  and  trained ; 
and  the  wonder  spread  to  distant  tribes, 
who  made  long  journeys  to  see  the  Star  of 
Opara's  tribe,  who  understood  the  voice 
of  Nature,  and  talked  with  all  the  children 
of  the  Great  Mother  ;  for  so  the  simple  sav- 
ages interpreted  it. 

But  Minnie  grew  weaker  and  weaker. 
She  concealed  her  weakness  as  much  as 
possible  from  Joshua,  who  was  very  tender 
to  her,  very,  very  kind.      He  had  quite 


so   NEAR  AND  YET   SO   FAR. 


205 


forgiven  her;  no  cloud  disturbed  the 
harmony  of  their  strange  lives.  Bearing 
always  in  mind  the  advice  which  Rough- 
and-Keady  had  given  them  to  endeavor  to 
make  their  way  southward,  and  knowing 
the  one  great  wish  of  Joshua's  heart,  she 
had  used  all  her  influence  with  the  tribe  to 
induce  them  every  time  they  shifted  their 
camp  to  move  in  that  direction,  and  had 
succeeded  so  far,  that  every  season  found 
them  nearer  to  the  settled  districts.  But, 
although  three  years  had  passed,  they  had 
not  seen  the  slightest  signs  of  civilization. 

Once  Joshua  was  in  a  terrible  state  of 
agitation.  He  was  gathering  sweet  leaves 
for  his  birds,  when  "  Crack  I "  went  the 
sound  of  a  whip.  He  uttered  a  joyful  cry, 
and  threw  himself  upon  the  ground  with 
all  his  heart  in  his  ears,  for  he  had  not 
caught  the  direction  of  the  sound. 
"  Crack  !  "  went  the  whip  again.  He  ran 
swiftly  towards  it,  and  listened  again. 
Rough-and-Ready  had  told  him  many 
times  to  keep  his  ears  sharp  open  for  the 
crack  of  a  vrliip,  and  here  it  was,  at  last, 
after  weary,  weary  waiting. 

"  You  will  find  most  likely,"  Rough-and 
Ready  had  said,  "  that  it  is  a  stockman 
looking  after  some  stray  cattle.  Then  you 
will  be  all  right." 

The  thoughts  that  crowded  upon  Josh- 
ua's mind  in  the  few  moments  that  elapsed 
between  the  cracking  of  the  whip  would 
occupv  an  hour  to  describe ;  they  may  be 
summarized  thus  :  "  That  is  a  stockman's 
whip,  lliank  God  for  it !  I  shall  see  him 
presently,  and  he  will  wait  while  I  fetch 
Minnie.  Then  we  will  go  to  where  his 
companions  are,  and  I  will  get  some  pres- 
ents for  our  kind  friends  the  natives.  Min- 
nie will  soon  grow  strong ;  thank  God ! 
We  will  go  down  to  Sydney,  and  get  pas- 
sage home  in  the  first  ship.  Then  —  then 
—  O  Ellen,  Ellen  I  O  Dan,  dear  friend  ! 
dear  mother  and  father  I  All  will  come 
right  —  all  will  be  set  right.  Thank 
God ! " 

"  Crack,  crack !  "  Nearer  —  nearer.  He 
was  close  to  it,  but  saw  nothing.  He  looked 
round  carefully,  watchfully.  '•  Crack  1  " 
Over  his  head.  He  turned  his  eyes  to  the 
clouds,  and  saw  a  bird  —  the  whip-bird  — 
flying  over  the  trees,  uttering  its  "  crack  ! " 
as  it  flew,  taking  his  hopes  with  it,  and 
bearing  them  away  to  where  perhaps  he 
would  never  meet  with  them  again. 

And  Dan  is  sitting  in  a  wooden  hut  built 
near  the  banks  of  a  beautiful  river.  Seas 
do  not  divide  him  from  his  friend.  They 
both  live  on  the  same  bit  of  land,  ignorant 
of  each  other's  whereabouts.  The  same 
continent  holds  those  two  faithful  hearts. 
What  is  Dan  doing  ?   who  are  with  him  ? 


what  kind  of  a  place  is  this  where  he  and 
they  reside  ? 

A  village  in  which  dwell  not  more  than 
a  few  hundred  inhaljitants.     Not  free  from 
care,  for  care  is  human  ;   but  happier  than 
inhal)itants    of  great    cities    are.       There 
is  plenty  of  work  for  hands  to  do ;    more 
than   there   are   hands   to  do  it.       What 
luxury  there  is,  is  the  luxury  of  nature  — 
rich  fruits,  bright  flowers,  clear  atmosphere, 
sweet  air,  lovely  skies,  grand  sunrises  and 
sunsets,  and  sparkling  watercourses  whose 
banks  teem  with  graceful  shapes  and  love- 
ly color.     Here  a  city  is  to  be  formed,  and 
they  who  live  in   it  and  are  content  shall 
see  it  grow  up  to  strength  —  ay,  to  man- 
hood —  and   shall  have  a  share  in  its  in- 
creasing wealth.     First,  tents  of  canvas  to 
live  in ;    now  huts   of  wood ;  by  and    by 
houses  of  stone.      But  these  last,  though 
they  be   stronger,  will  not  bring  more  en- 
during happiness.     And  here  is  Dan,  with 
his  birds,  as  usual.    He  earns  money  enough 
now.     Not  a  hundred  miles  away,  in  the 
capital  of  the  colony  of  which  this  little  vil- 
lage is  a  speck,  lives  a  dealer  who  comes 
regularly  to  Dan's  wooden  house,  and  buys 
such  birds  as  he  has  trained,  and  pays  hand- 
somely for  them.  Not  Solomon  Fewster.  He 
also  is  in  that  rising  capital,  and  Dan  will  not 
sell  him  a  bird.     Not  that  Solomon  Fewster 
needs  them  ;  for  he  is  making  money  fast, 
and  the  miserly  passion  of  accumulation  is 
growing  very  strong  in  him.     His  business 
carries  him  often  to  Dan's  village,  —  twice  a 
month,  perhaps  ;  and  regularly  every  two 
or  three  months  he  makes  some  kind  of 
overture  to   Ellen,  who  shakes  her  head, 
and  sometimes  answers  him,  and  sometimes 
evades  the  subject.    Dan  has  remonstrated 
with  him,  and  has  begged  him  never  to  re- 
fer to  the  subject  again.    But  he  answers,  — 
"I  cannot  help  it,  Dan.     If  you  knew 
what  love  was,  you  would  know  that  a  man 
can  no  more  help  loving  than  he  can  help 
feeling.     It  was  love  that  first  brought  me 
to  your  house  in   Stepney.     I  didn't  want 
the  birds ;  but  so  that  I  might  have  the 
privilege  of  coming  to  the  house —  and  of 
doing  you  and  Ellen  a  good  turn  at   the 
same  time,  mind,  Dan  —  I  took  a  deal  of 
trouble  to  find  dealers  in  birds  who  would 
buy  them  of  me  at  the  same  price  I  paid  you 
for  them  ;  and  I  shouldn't  be  telling  an  un- 
truth if  I  said  that  I  lost  money  by  many  of 
the  birds  I  paid  you  for.     One  man  I  sold  to 
failed,  and  I  had   to  take  a  composition. 
Well,  I  didn't  know  then  that  Ellen  loved 
Joshua ;  nothing  was  said  between  them ; 
and  when  he  first  went  away  he  wasn't  old 
enough  to  know  his  own   mind.     He  came 
back,  and  when  he  was  ill  I  didn't  show  a 
bad  spirit  to  him.     After  Ellen   and  he 
were  engaged,  I  did  not  desert  you ;  and  I 


206 


JOSHUA  MAKVEL. 


didn't  annoy  Ellen  by  forcing  my  atten- 
tions upon  her.  You  spoke  to  me  once 
about  that  unfortunate  canary  that  died  in 
my  hand  when  I  bade  Joshua  good-by. 
You  can't  think  that  I  killed  it  purposely. 
But  you  may  be  able  to  form  some  idea  of 
my  feelings  (which  can't  always  be  sup- 
pressed, Dan),  and  of  the  restraint  I  had  to 
put  upon  myself  when  in  the  presence  of 
the  man  who  had  taken  from  me  the  most 
precious  thing  in  the  wor^d  to  me  —  El- 
len's love  —  and  you  can  put  down  the 
poor  canary's  death  to  that  cause.  I've  no 
need  to  say  any  thing  more.  I've  loved 
Ellen  all  along,  and  "I've  always  treated 
her  with  respect  and  consideration.  You 
mustn't  debar  me  from  the  chance  of  being 
happy ;  Ellen  may  change  her  mind  one 
day.  It  is  many  years  now  since  I  first 
saw  her,  a  girl ;  and  that  I  am  content 
now  to  wait  and  hope  ought  to  be  sufficient 
proof  of  my  disinterestedness  and  sincer- 
ity." 

To  such-like  pleading  Dan  finds  no  re- 
ply, and  so  they  go  on  as  usual. 

To  Dan,  as  he  sits  with  his  birds,  comes 
Ellen  with  her  peaceful  sad  face.  She  has 
not  found  happiness,  but  she  has  found 
peace.  Solomon  Fewster  is  not  her  only 
suitor.  Every  single  man  in  the  village  is 
enamoured  of  her,  and  would  be  glad  to 
make  her  his  wife.  But  she  tells  her  story 
to  all  with  a  womanly  purpose.  She  is 
married,  and  her  husband  went  out  as  third 
mate  of  the  "  Merry  Andrew,"  and  the 
ship  was  lost  and  all  hands,  as  it  is  sup- 
posed. But  she  cannot  believe  that  her 
husband  is  dead  ;  something  tells  her  that 
he  is  alive  —  living  upon  some  uninhabited 
shore  mayhap,  and  looking  forward  to  the 
time  when,  by  the  mercy  of  God,  they  shall 
be  together  again.  Her  story  is  repeated 
from  one  to  another ;  and  some  kind  souls 
who  have  been  in  the  colony  a  few  years 
come  to  her  and  Dan  with  little  scraps  of 
information  concerning  the  "Merry  An- 
drew," such  as  the  finding  of  a  piece  of  a  fig- 
ure-head which  belonged  to  her  husband's 
ship,  and  other  similar  evidence,  which  con- 
vince them  that  the  "  Merry  Andrew  "  was 
lost  off"  the  Australian  coast.  "  Is  it  not 
possible,"  asks  Dan,  "  that  some  of  the  crew 
may  have  been  saved,  and  may  be  dwelling 
now  on  some  part  of  the  uninhabited  Aus- 
tralian coast  ?  "  "  Quite  possible,"  they 
answer  :  and  they  relate  such  instances  as 
they  know  of  vessels  being  wrecked,  and 
of  some  of  the  sailors  being  saved  and 
found  years  after  they  were  supposed  to  be 
lost.  Dan  and  Ellen  derive  much  comfort 
from  these  narrations. 

Ellen's  little  child  Maggie  is  the  pet 
of  the  village.  At  the  present  moment  she 
is  playing  with  her  goat  in  the  paddock  at 


the  back  of  the  house,  breathing  in  health 
with  fresh  air.  To-night,  when  she  says 
her  prayers,  she  will  pray  that  God  will 
please  send  her  father  home  —  a  prayer 
joined  in  by  all  of  them  every  night. 

Who  is  this  ?  Susan.  In  no  whit 
changed.  With  the  same  strange  watchful 
manner  upon  her  as  in  the  old  days  in 
Stepney,  but  never  uttering  a  word  con- 
cerning Joshua.  Sometimes  she  will  go 
for  days  without  speaking  to  a  soul,  and  a 
smile  never  crosses  her  lips. 

And  this  gentle  woman,  going  about  the 
house  quietly,  doing  her  work  cheerfully, 
with  a  sweet  smile  for  every  one  she  comes 
across,  and  by  whose  side  the  little  Maggie 
is  content  to  sit  in  silence  with  her  hands 
folded  in  her  lap?  This  is  Mrs.  Marvel. 
You  would  know  her  if  you  had  only  seen 
her  once,  although  her  hair  is  nearly  white 
now  ;  for  hers  is  one  of  the  peaceful  faces 
that  dwell  in  your  memory  and  remind  you 
of  your  mother.  As  for  her  hair  being 
nearly  white  —  for  the  matter  of  that,  so 
is  Mr.  Marvel's.  It  would  not  do  for  him 
to  pay  for  every  white  hair  that  is  pulled 
out  of  his  head,  as  at  the  commencement 
of  this  story. 

They  sit  together  on  this  evening,  as  is 
their  wont,  and  as  they  used  to  do  in  the 
dear  old  kitchen  in  Stepney,  and  talk  of 
Joshua.  And  George  Marvel  smokes  his 
pipe,  and  his  wife  darns  —  more  slowly 
than  in  the  old  days,  for  her  sight  is  not 
so  strong  as  it  was  —  and  Dan  trains  his 
birds  and  reads  to  his  friends.  They  have 
been  sorely  afflicted,  but  faith  and  love 
have  banished  despair. 

On  this  very  evening,  hundreds  of  miles 
away,  Joshua  is  sitting  on  the  ground  in 
his  gunyah,  amusing  himself  and  Minnie 
with  his  birds.  She  is  reclining  on  her 
'possum-skin  rug,  looking  affectionately 
and  gratefully  at  Joshua,  who  has  grown 
very  wise  in  the  different  habits  and 
natures  of  the  strange  birds  he  has  before 
him.  With  what  care  he  has  collected 
them  !  Here  is  the  quaint  kingfisher,  flit- 
ting about  as  contentedly  as  it  used  to  flit 
among  the  dead  trees  that  lie  on  the  banks 
of  creeks.  Joshua,  watching  it  one  day, 
saw  it  suddenly  dart  into  the  water  with 
such  eagerness  that  it  was  completely  sub- 
merged ;  he  thought  it  was  drowned,  but 
the  next  instant  it  appeared  above  the 
surface  with  a  small  fish  in  its  mouth,  with 
which  it  hopped,  exultant,  into  the  wood- 
land again.  It  is  a  handsome  bird,  and  a 
singular-looking  one  too,  with  its  beak 
about  a  quarter  as  long  as  its  body,  and  its 
light  crimson  breast  and  azure  back  and 
shrewd  brown  eyes.  Here  is  the  moun- 
tain bee-eater,  the  wondrous  blending  of 
colors  in  whose  pJumage  suggests  the  fancy 


so  NEAR  AND  YET   SO   FAR. 


207 


that  its  feathers  must  have  been  dyed  in 
the  jrlorious  sunsets  of  the  South,  and  that 
it  first  saw  the  light  when  rainbo\vs 
■were  sliining.  Here  are  the  honeysuckers, 
yellow-eared,  blue-cheeked,  and  golden- 
crowned  ;  and  the  crimson-throated  mana- 
kin,  with  its  pleasant  song;  and  the 
spotted  finch,  with  red  eyes ;  and  the 
scarlet-backed  warbler ;  and  the  pretty 
thrush,  black-crowned  and  orange-breasted, 
whose  loping  in  the  early  morning  was  the 
cheeri'uUest  of  all  the  birds ;  and  the  yel- 
low-nnnpcd  fiy-catcher,  fussing  about,  and 
chattering  like  a  magpie.  All  these  are 
here,  and  many  others ;  and  Joshua  often 
tliinks  how  delighted  Dan  would  be  with 
them.  Joshua  and  Minnie  are  clothed 
completely  in  fur  garments ;  all  their  civ- 
ilized clothes  are  gone.  Joshua's  hair  has 
grown  so,  that  his  face  is  quite  covered 
with  it. 

"  Would  they  know  me  at  home,  INIin- 
nie,  if  they  could  see  me  as  I  am  ?  "  he 
asks. 

"  I  doubt  it,"  she  replies ;  "  but  they 
would  know  your  voice." 

"  Shall  we  ever  see  them  again  ?  "  he 
asks,  more  of  himself  than  of  her. 

She  sighs,  and  does  not  answer.  He 
may ;  she  prays  that  he  will.  But  she ! 
The  breeze  sighs  with  her,  as  she  thinks 
that  she  will  never  again  look  upon  the 
faces  of  her  friends.  Well !  perhaps  it  is 
better  so.  She  desires  no  happier  lot  than 
to  die  in  Joshua's  arms,  with  his  eyes  look- 
ing kindly  upon  her.  She  has  been  grow- 
ing weaker  raid  weaker  every  day ;  she  does 
not  complain,  but  he  often  regards  her 
with  apprehensive  looks,  and  prays  that 
she  may  not  be  taken  from  him.  They 
live  together  as  brother  and  sister;  the 
love  he  bears  for  her  is  as  pure  as  the  love 
he  bears  for  liis  mother.  He  speaks  to  her 
often  of  Dan,  and  she  listens  with  sweet 
patience.  But  he  does  not  understand 
that  her  love  for  him  is  part  of  her  very 
nature,  and  that  it  cannot  be  transferred 
—  that  it  cannot  change.  He  does  not 
understand  it,  does  not  know  it ;  he  de- 
ludes himself  with  the  hope  that,  if  it 
should  mercifully  chance  that  they  should 
reach  home,  the  dear  hope  of  Dan's  lite 
may  be  realized,  and  that  Minnie's  love 
and  Dan's  belief  in  her  purity  may 
brighten  the  days  of  his  friend.  She 
knows  that  Joshua  entertains  this  hope, 
and  does  not  pain  him  by  telling  him  how 
false  it  is. 

So  the  days  pass,  and  the  seasons 
change.  In  accordance  with  Minnie's 
wish,  the  tribe  moves  farther  and  farther 
southward,  and  is  rewarded  by  finding 
plenty  of  game  in  the  woods,  and  fish  in 
the  rivers  and  pools.     Summer  dies,  and 


the  beautiful  autumn  brings  strength  to 
Alinnie  ;  but  the  succeeding  winter  strikes 
her  down.  Her  savage  friends  and  wor- 
shippers are  grieved  to  the  heart  at  her 
weakness,  and  she,  true  to  her  purpose 
and  to  Joshua,  makes  them  understand 
that  health  and  strength  for  her  lie  south- 
ward, and  urges  them  on  towards  the 
settled  districts. 

"  If  we  are  saved,"  says  Joshua,  "  I 
shall  owe  all  my  happiness  to  you.  Minnie. 
Once  you  gave  me  life  ;  now  perhaps  you 
will  give  me  what  is  better  than  life." 

A  look  of  content  rests  in  her  eyes  as  he 
says  this,  and  she  muses  upon  it  for  days 
afterwards,  murnmring  the  words  to  her- 
self before  she  falls  asleep.  Speaking  to 
her  of  her  father  at  one  time,  he  is  "sur- 
prised to  hear  her  say,  "  Father  is  dead, 
Joshua." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  he  asks,  startled. 
"I  feel  it — here,"  pressing  her  hand  to 
her  heart;  "I  have  dreamt  that  I  saw 
him  and  mother  together.  Some  things 
come  to  us  intuitively  ;  we  do  not  need  to 
be  told." 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  else  about  those 
at  home  ?  "  he  asks,  half  awed  by  her  sol- 
emn tone. 

"  No  ;  but  one  other  thing  I  know  that  I 
ought  not  to  keep  from  you." 

He  waits  in  silence  for  what  is  to  come, 
dreading  to  speak.  She  takes  his  hand ; 
hers  is  hot  with  fever. 

"  Do  not  think  me  imkind,"  she  says, 
"  but  for  many  weeks  I  have  felt  impelled 
to  tell  you,  and  now  that  the  time  is  draw- 
ing near,  I  must  no  longer  keep  it  from 
you.  Can  you  guess  what  it  is,  my 
dear  ?  " 

"  O  Minnie  !  Minnie  !  "  he  cries,  fall- 
ing on  his  knees  at  her  feet ;  "do  not  tell 
me  that  you  are  going  to  leave  me !  " 

"I  cannot  help  it,  dear,"  she  says,  ten- 
derly. "  Before  the  spring  dies  I  shall  leave 
you.  I  shall  spend  my  summer  in  another 
world."  She  repeats  the  words,  as  though 
they  conveyed  to  her  some  deeper  meaning 
than  they  implied.  "  Yes,  I  shall  spend  my 
summer  in  another  world.  My  heart  has 
been  wintered  in  this." 

He  strives  to  reason  her  out  of  her 
belief, —  tells  her  that  it  is  foncy  ;  but 
she  gently  checks  him,  with  "  Nay,  dear 
Joshua.  'Tis  but  a  little  time  to  spring. 
Let  us  talk  of  other  things." 

Soon  the  buds  begin  to  come,  and  the 
leaves  grow  green.  Minnie  hides  her 
weakness,  says  that  she  feels  stronger,  and 
Joshua  begins  to  hope.  But  he  does  not 
know  what  motive  she  has  in  this ;  he 
does  not  know  that  she  puts  on  an  appear- 
ance of  strength,  so  that  she  may  not 
retard  their  course  southward.     In  many 


208 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


of  their  inarches  she  sustains  her  fainting 
heart  by  strength,  of  love.  "  Nearer, 
nearer,"  she  -whispers  to  herself;  "he  shall 
owe  all  his  happiness  to  me." 

Come  there  to  the  camp  one  day  some 
members  of  another  tribe,  who  speak  of 
bavins  seen  men  of  the  color  of  Joshua 
and  Minnie  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  to 
the  south,  mounted  on  strange  animals. 
These  aboriginal  wanderers,  indeed,  are  at 
variance  with  one  another :  some  say  that 
men  and  animals  are  one ;  others,  that 
they  are  distinct  creatures.  Opara  tells 
Joshua  and  Minnie,  who  are  able  by  this 
time  to  understand  the  native  tongue,  and 
to  make  themselves  understood. 

"  What  Opara  says  is  good,"  says  Min- 
nie. "  We  will  go  towards  these  men. 
They  are  our  brothers.  They  will  give 
me  back  my  strength." 

Opara  being  gone,  Minnie  asks  Joshua 
what  he  thinks.  Joshua,  with  eager  voice 
and  sparkling  eyes,  cries  that  they  are 
stockmen  on  horses,  as  Rough-and-Ready 
had  told  them. 

"  All  will  yet  be  well,"  he  says,  hiis  voice 
trembling  with  joyful  emotion  ;  "  in  a  few 
months  perhaps  we  shall  be  among  white 
people  again." 

She  listens  in  silence :  and  presently,  in 
accordance  with  their  nightly  custom,  he 
takes  his  accordion  from  its  bag  of  fur, 
and  plays  the  sweetest  airs  he  knows. 
"  Poor  Tom  Bowling  "  and  "  Bread-and- 
cheese  and  lusses"  are  his  jiriucipal 
tliemes;  and  as  he  plays,  the  newly-in- 
spired hope  stirs  into  life  his  dearest  mem- 
ories, and  brings  before  him  those  pictures 
of  his  boyish  days  that  he  most  loves  to 
dwell  upon. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

FAITHFUL    UNTO    DEATH. 

The  river  runs  onward  like  a  sparkling 
stream,  now  rushing  between  high  banks 
of  forest  land,  dotted  here  and  there  with 
miniature  islands  of  rocks  covered  with 
lichens  and  shrubs,  now  settling  into  a 
still-looking  reach,  its  surface  covered  with 
delicate  mauve-colored  water-lilies.  Near 
to  a  great  grove  of  palms  upon  the  river's 
bank  the  native  camp  is  fixed ;  and  not  far 
from  the  spot  the  channel  tbrms  a  descent, 
more  steep  than  abrupt,  where  it  is  cut  up 
into  hundreds  of  brawling  streams  by 
islands  of  beautiful  shrubs.  The  natives 
have  pitched  their  camp  here,  in  accord- 
ance with  Minnie's  wisli ;  they  have  been 


marching  southward  for  more  than  a  week' 
and  Minnie  has  borne  up  bravely ;  but  her 
strength  has  failed  her  at  last,  and  she  is 
compelled  to  succumb.  It  is  understood 
among_  them  that  their  Star  is  sick,  and 
the  mintapas  (doctors)  are  anxious  to 
practise  their  heaUng  arts  upon  her,  but 
their  efforts  are  firmly  and  gently  repulsed 
by  Joshua.  For  this,  they  look  upon  him 
with  no  friendly  eye,  and  but  for  Opara 
his  life  among  them  would  not  be  so  pleas- 
ant as  it  has  been.  He  pays  no  heed  to 
them ;  his  anxiety  concerning  Mnnie  en- 
grosses all  his  thoughts  now. 

She  is  sinking  fast,  and  has  grown  so 
weak  that  he  is  obliged  to  carry  her  about. 
The  spot  she  most  loves  is  where  the 
river  is  still  and  quiet ;  there  she  will 
lie  for  hours,  with  Joshua  by  her  side, 
watching  the  shifting  shadows  of  the 
clouds  in  the  water's  depths.  She  says 
but  little ;  but  every  time  her  eyes  turn  to 
Joshua,  they  are  filled  with  gratitude  and 
love.  Once  she  expressed  a  desire  to 
write  something,  and  Joshua  makes  a 
little  ink  with  paint  and  gum-juice,  and 
makes  a  pen  from  a  duck's  quill ;  but  pa- 
per he  has  none. 

"  Your  Bible,"  says  Minnie. 

He  gives  it  to  her,  and  she  writes  a  few 
lines  on  the  blank  page  at  the  end.  Then 
she  tears  out  the  leaf,  and  folding  it  care- 
fully says,  "  This  is  for  Dan,  when  you  see 
him  "  (having  a  full  faith  that  Joshua  and 
Dan  will  meet);  "do  not  read  it,  but 
place  it  carefully  by." 

He  puts  it  with  Ellen's  lock  of  hair  in 
the  bag  he  wears  round  his  neck. 

That  same  night  a  change  comes  over 
Minnie.  He  has  been  away  from  the  hut 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  when  he  returns  he 
sees  her  sitting  in  a  listening  attitude 
with  her  hand  to  her  ear. 

"  Minnie  I  "  he  exclaims  ;  but  she  holds 
up  a  warning  finger,  and  says,  — 

"  Hush,  Joshua !  I  am  listening  to  the 
singing  of  the  sea.     Is  it  not  sweet  ?  " 

His  heart  beats  rapidly,  and  he  takes 
her  disengaged  hand  in  his,  and  asks  her 
what  she  has  in  the  hand  she  is  holding  to 
her  ear. 

"  It  is  a  shell,"  she  says.  She  shows  it 
to  him,  and  her  face  assumes  the  exact 
childlike  expression  of  pleasure  and  sim- 
plicity it  wore  in  the  fiirewell  interview  he 
had  with  her  before  he  first  went  to  sea. 

"  You  know  me,  Minnie  ?  "  he  says,  dis- 
tressed. 

"  Yes,  dear  Joshua  !  What  a  question  I 
But  you  must  not  be  angry  with  me.  I 
took  the  shell  —  but  I  took  it  for  you." 

"Nay  but,  Minnie,"  he  says,  striving  to 
arrest  her  wandering  thoughts ;  "  listen  to 
me  " — 


FAITHFUL  UNTO  DEATH. 


209 


"  Call  me  little  Minnie,"  she  pleads  like 
a  child,  in  the  softest  of  voices. 

"  Little  Minnie  1 "  he  sighs,  with  an 
almost  broken  heart. 

"  Little  Minnie  !  Little  Minnie  !  "  she  re- 
peats. "  The  shell  is  singin;^  it.  Hush  !  " 
She  remains  silent  for  some  time  after  this, 
and  Jo^-hua  deems  it  best  not  to  disturb  her. 
An  hour  may  have  passed  when  she  calls 
to  him. 

'•  Say  that  again,  Joshua,"  she  says. 

AVondering,  he  asks  her  what  it  is  she 
wishes  him  to  repeat. 

"  Na\',"  she  answers,  "  that  is  to  tease 
me.  But  you  must  say  it  after  me,  word 
for  word  :  '  What  you  did,  you  did  through 
love,  and  there  could  not  be  much  wrong 
in  it.' "  He  recognizes  his  own  words  to 
her,  and  in  a  troubled  voice  he  repeats, 
"  What  you  did,  you  did  through  love,  and 
there  could  not  be  much  wrong  in  it." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  she  says  ;  "  you  have 
made  me  happy.  I  shall  try  to  sleep 
now." 

N     He  covers  her  with  a  rug,  and  watches 
by  her  side  during  the  night. 

He  has  no  heart  for  his  birds,  and  were 
it  not  that  she  takes  a  childish  delight  in 
them,  and  is  glad  to  have  them  around  her, 
he  would  have  taken  them  to  the  woods 
and  set  them  free.  She  does  not  recover 
consciousness  of  her  true  position  ;  she  be- 
lieves that  she  and  Joshua  are  children  to- 
gether, and  —  it  may  be  happily  —  all  the 
horrors  through  which  she  has  passed  have 
faded  from  her  mind.  Her  great  delight 
is  to  play  with  the  birds  and  listen  to  her 
shell.  Sometimes  the  iancy  that  he  is  at 
sea  possesses  her,  and  she  talks  to  him  of 
himself,  as  she  used  to  talk  to  Dan,  and 
coaxes  him  to  tell  her  the  story  of  the 
death  of  Golden  Cloud  and  other  incidents 
of  his  boyish  life.  In  this  condition  she 
remains  for  many  days,  until  the  time 
comes  when  she  awakes  from  a  deep  sleep, 
and  says,  in  her  weak  voice,  "  I  have  been 
dreaming,  Joshua.  I  thought  we  were 
children  again."  Then  opening  her  hand 
with  the  shell  in  it,  looks  at  it,  blushing, 
and  says,  "It  is  the  old  shell,  Joshua. 
You  remember." 

"  Do  you  feel  stronger,  Minnie  ?  " 

"  No,  dear ;  I  shall  not  grow  stronger. 
It  will  be  as  I  told  you  a  little  while  ago. 
Spring  is  not  gone  yet ;  but  it  will  be  soon. 
Have  they  asked  about  me  ?  "  meaning  the 
natives. 

"Yes,  many  times  every  day,  Minnie; 
and  have  brought  their  choicest  food  for 
you  regularly." 

"  They  have  been  very  kind  to  us. 
Kough-and- Ready  was  not  quite  right  about 
them.  I  used  to  tremble  with  fear  when 
he  spoke  of  them.     Poor  Rough-and-Ready 


and  poor  Tom  1  What  has  become  of 
them,  I  wonder !  " 

They  muse  sadly  over  the  memory  of 
those  two  good  friends. 

"  Some  lives  are  very  hard,  Joshua,"  she 
continues.  "  His  was,  I  am  sure.  1  sup- 
pose it  was  as  he  said,  and  that  he  has  done 
bad  things.  Yet  how  kind  and  gentle  he 
was  to  us  1  It  is  hard  to  reconcile  ;  but  it 
seems  to  me,  my  dear,  that  our  lots  are 
shaped  for  us.  We  can't  help  our  feelings ; 
we  don't  make  them  ;  they  come,  and  we 
must  act  as  they  prompt  us  to  act.  Opara 
and  the  savages  now :  they  couldn't  help 
being  born  savages,  and  they  have  had  no 
good  teaching.  Don't  think  me  wicked  for 
what  I  am  going  to  say,  my  dear." 

"  No,  Minnie  ;  go  on." 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  believing  that  a  good 
deal  of  what  is  called  wrong  is  not  wrong, 
and  that  bad  is  not  always  bad.  I  can't 
explain  exactly  Avhat  I  mean,  but  I  feel  it." 
She  appears  to  think  that  she  has  got  out 
of  her  depth,  and  suddenly  changes  the 
subject.  "  Take  me  out,  and  let  me  see 
Opara.  You  must  carry  me ;  I  am  not  as 
heavy  as  I  was." 

He  lifts  her  in  his  arms,  and  carries  her, 
with  her  arm  roimd  his  neck,  out  of  the  hut 
towards  the  savages.  They  crowd  round 
her,  and  she  speaks  a  few  words  to  them, 
and  smiles  upon  them.  Then,  by  easy 
stages,  he  carries  her  to  her  favorite  spot 
by  the  river's  side,  and  there  they  rest. 

"  All  rivers  have  currents,  Joshua  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

"  Even  this,  that  looks  so  still  and 
quiet  ?  " 

"  Even  this,  my  dear ;  the  current  is  run- 
ning, although  you  cannot  see  it.  But  re- 
member, the  river  is  not  so  still  evei'y  where. 
A  very  few  miles  away  it  is  full  of  life  ;  it 
is  rushing  over  the  rocks,  and  is  never  still 
for  an  instant  day  and  night." 

"  Strange  1  So  restless  there,  so  quiet 
here  !  It  has  been  so  with  me  :  so  restless 
there,  so  quiet  here!  Look!  we  can  see 
the  fish  in  the  clear  depths.  How  beauti- 
fully the  wild  jasmine  smells  !  " 

He  gathers  a  little  for  her,  and  a  bunch 
of  fringed  violets,  and  she  puts  them  in  her 
breast.  Then  she  encourages  him  to  talk 
of  home,  and  listens  with  sincere  pleas- 
ure to  his  praises  of  Dan. 

"  It  is  good  to  be  loved  by  such  a  heart," 
she  muses. 

"  Ah,  Minnie  !  "  he  ventures  to  say,  "  if 
it  could  have  been  with  him  as  he  once 
hoped  it  would  !  " 

"  About  me  ?  "  she  replies  unhesitatingly. 
"  Does  not  that  seem  to  be  a  proof  that  our 
lots  are  shaped  for  us  V  Tell  him  that  I 
was  very,  very  sorry,  and  that  I  begged 
him  to  forgive  me." 


210 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


But  it  is  chiefly  about  Joshua's  mother 
that  she  speaks,  and  wishes  that /ier  mother 
had  lived.  In  the  midst  of  the  conversa- 
tion she  fiiUs  into  a  Ught  slumber,  and 
opening  her  eyes  half  an  hour  afterwards, 
resumes  fiora  the  point  where  they  had  left 
off,  as  if  there  had  been  no  interval  of  si- 
lence. 

On  another  occasion  they  are  together 
on  the  same  spot,  and  Joshua  is  telling  her 
of  a  beautiful  part  of  the  river's  bank 
which  she  had  not  seen.  '  "  The  river  is 
narrow  there,  and  even  more  peacei'ul  than 
this,"  he  says.  "  The  trees  on  both  sides 
bend  over  the  water  until  the  to[)most 
branches  almost  touch,  so  that  the  river  is 
in  shade.  The  sun  was  peeping  through 
the  arch  of  branches,  lighting  up  the  water 
bere  and  there,  and  the  golden  light 
streaked  the  white  leaves  of  the  lilies,  over 
which  the  pretty  lotus-bird  was  running 
with  so  light  a  step  as  not  to  stir  the  flow- 
ers." 

"  How  beautiful !  "  she  says  softly.  "  At- 
night,  when  the  moon  is  shining  on  the 
wat^r  and  the  lily-leaves  through  the  arch 
of  branches,  how  grand  and  peaceful  it 
must  be!  Joshua,  bend  your  head,  my 
dear.  When  I  am  gone,  let  nie  be  buried 
there.     Nay,  don't  cry  ;  but  promise." 

In  a  broken  voice  he  jJi'omises  her,  and 
she  is  content.  Then  she  bids  him  bring 
Opara  to  her ;  and  the  aged  chief  comes 
and  sits  by  her  side. 

"  0[)ara,"  she  says,  taking  Joshua's  hand 
and  kissing  it,  "  this  my  brother  and  I  are 
one.     You  understand  V  " 

"  I  understand,"  he  answers  ;  and  Josh- 
ua wonders  what  it  is  she  is  about  to  say. 

"  You  see  how  weak  I  have  grown, 
Opara.  Look  at  my  hand ;  you  can  see 
the  light  through  it." 

"  Say,  my  daughter,"  asks  Opara  :  "  you 
who  know  the  language  of  birds  and  flow- 
ers, —  you  who  know  the  mysteries  of  the 
Grand  Vault,  —  can  you  not  make  yourself 
strong  V  " 

"  No,  Opara  ;  I  am  wanted." 

"  Cannot  our  mintapas  make  you 
strong  V  " 

"No,  Opara;  their  skill  is  not  for  me. 
Tell  them  so ;  and  tell  them  I  tliank  them, 
and  will  not  forget  them.  Listen.  Many 
moons  ago,  I  walked  in  the  woods,  where 
the  leaves  were  singing  to  each  other,  and 
where  the  wind  whisi)ered  strange  things 
as  it  travelled  through  the  trees.  I  heard 
a  voice  ;  I  hstened ;  and  I  was  told  that 
when  the  next  summer  came,  I  should  be 
wanted  —  There  !  " 

Opara  gravely  followeil  the  motion  of  her 
hand,  as  it  pointed  upwards. 

"  The  summer  is  coming,  and  I  must  go. 
Do  not  disturb  me  then ;  my  brother  will 


see  to  me ;  and  tell  your  young  men  and 
women  to  let  me  rest." 

"  I  will  tell  them,  and  they  v>ill  obey. 
Will  our  daughter  return  to  us  V  " 

Minnie  catches  at  this  question  eagerly, 
and  clasps  Joshua's  hand  with  a  firmer 
clasp. 

'•  1  will  return,  if  you  will  do  one  thing 
for  me." 

"  Opara  will  do  it." 

"  It  will  take  many  days  to  do." 

"  If  it  takes  many  moons  to  do,  it  shall 
be  done." 

'•  Opara's  name  shall  be  known  in  .ue 
Grand  Vault,"  says  Minnie  in  an  earnest 
tone.  "  Take  heed  of  my  words.  Those 
men  of  the  same  color  as  my  brother,  of 
which  you  were  told  some  time  ago,  you 
have  not  seen  them  V  " 

"  No." 

"  They  ai-e  southward.  My  brother  has 
a  message  for  them  from  me.  lie  has 
promised  to  deliver  it  to  them  ;  but  he  does 
not  know  the  country.  If  he  goes  by  him- 
self, bad  men  of  other  tribes  may  meet  him 
and  take  him  with  them.  If  you  and  some 
of  your  young  men  will  accompany  him 
south  until  he  sees  the  strangers,  or  is  near 
to  them,  I  will  return  to  you  by  and  by, 
and  your  tribe  shall  never  want  food.  The 
strangers  will  be  kind  to  you,  and  will  give 
you  goofl  things.  Will  Opai-a  do  this,  and 
IM'otect  my  brother  ?  " 

"  Opara  will  do  this,  and  will  protect 
your  brother." 

"  Good."  She  gives  the  old  chief  her 
hand,  and  he  places  it  on  his  eyes,  and  de- 
parts gravely. 

Joshua  for  a  time  is  too  agitated  to 
speak.  This  last  proof  of  her  devotion  is 
the  crowning  sacrifice  of  her  life.  She  is 
the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Joshua,  my  dear,  I  have  made  atone- 
ment V  " 

He  can  only  say,  "  O  my  dear,  my  dear, 
how  unworthy  I  am  in  my  own  eyes  I  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  she  says  soothingly,  "  you 
are  all  that  is  good  and  noble.  A  better 
heart,  a  purer,  never  beat.  I  have  com- 
mitted a  great  fault,  and  have  done;  you  a 
great  wrong  —  unconsciously,  my  dear,  aad 
without  thought ;  and,  by  the  mercy  of  our 
Father,  I  have  been  able  to  atone  for  it. 
Think  of  me  as  a  child,  my  dear,  who  has 
loved  you  with  all  her  heart,  despite  her 
wilfuhiess.  Take  me  in  your  arms  as  you 
would  a  child,  and  say  that  you  forgive 
me." 

He  takes  her  in  his  arms,  and,  to  satisfy 
her,  sobs  out  the  words  she  wishes  to 
hear.     Her  face  is  close  to  his. 

"This  kiss  for  Ellen,"  she  whispers; 
"  this  lor  your  dear,  kind  motlier ;  this  for 
Dan.     Tell  all  of  them  of  my  fancy,  that  I 


JOSHUA  AND  THE  OLD  WIZAK 


wish  to  live  in  their  mind?,  not  as  a  woman, 
but  as  a  child  —  as  a  child  wlio  erred 
through  love,  and  who  had  not  been  taught 
to  understand  what  duty  was.  Who  said 
this,  "  There  is  no  earthly  sacrifice  that 
love  will  not  sanctify." 

"  Your  father  1  "  he  whispers,  amazed. 

"  I  heard  him  ;  I  was  in  the  room  when 
he  blessed  my  mother  lor  devoting  her  life 
to  him." 

Presently  she  asks  him  to  fetch  his  birds, 
and  he  runs  and  brings  them.  He  opens 
^  ;  cage,  and  they  hop  about  her  content- 
edly, "lie  gathers  some  wild  flowers,  and 
places  them  by  her  side.  Shortly  after- 
wards she  directs  his  attention  to  the 
fringed  violets,  which  do  not  live  an  hour 
after  they  are  gathered.  "  They  are  with- 
ering," she  says.  "  Do  not  pluck  any  more 
of  tiie  pretty  things ;  let  them  live."  He 
supports  her  in  his  arms ;  and  she  watches 
tlie  birds  with  glistening  eyes,  and  whis- 
pei-s  that  they  remind  her  of  dear  Dan. 
Then  she  falls  asleep,  with  her  face  turned 
to  Joshua.  He  does  not  disturb  her. 
Every  thing  around  is  very  still  and  quiet. 
He  thinks  of  th(5  restless  river  a  few  miles 
away,  and  of  Minnie's  words,  "  So  restless 
there,  so  quiet  here !  It  has  been  so  with 
me."  The  afternoon  passes;  the  sun  is 
going  down,  and  the  heavens  are  filled  with 
wondrous  color.  Minnie  has  been  asleep 
for  a  long  while  now.  Shall  he  arouse 
her?  Her  fair  face  is  perfectly  still,  and 
a  smile  is  on  her  lips.  "  Minnie ! "  he 
whispers.  Her  hand  is  on  her  heart,  and 
in  her  hand  the  shell.  She  does  not 
speak  ;  and  a  darkness  comes  upon  him, 
and  his  heart  grows  cold  as  he  presses  his 
lips  to  hers.  She  has  gone  to  spend  the 
summer  of  her  life  in  another  world. 

Opara  holds  the  last  words  of  ]\Iinnie 
sacred.  To  the  expressed  desire  of  the 
doctors  of  the  tribe  to  inter  Minnie  accord- 
ing to  their  rites,  he  says,  "  Our  daughter 
has  spoken,  and  Opara  has  promised.  Her 
brother  will  see  to  her.  Let  her  rest."  So, 
on  the  following  night,  Joshua  is  standing 
alone  oy  Minnie's  grave,  which  he  has 
strewn  with  wild  flowers.  In  the  rude 
cofHn  of  bark,  which  he  has  cut  and  made 
with  his  own  hands,  he  places  also  the 
sweetest-smelling  flowers  he  can  find.  Her 
shell  he  leaves  in  her  hand,  and  cuts  a  long 
tress  from  her  hair.  "  For  Dan,"  he  mur- 
murs. 

He  buries  her  in  the  place  he  had  de- 
scribed to  her,  and  where  she  had  expressed 
a  wish  to  be  laid.  It  is  just  sucji  a  night 
as  she  pictm-ed.  The  moon  is  streaming 
through  the  interlaced  branches  on  the 
beautilul  lilies  and  the  peaceful  water.  He 
reads  prayers  from  Dan's  Bible,  and  falls 


upon  his  knees ;  and,  __,__. 

words  of  her  father  recur  to  hirn,  and  he 
rc])eats  their  sense  prayerfully :  "  She  is  a 
wild  flower;  the  impulse  of  her  mind  is 
under  the  control  of  the  impulse  of  her 
heart.  She  is  oblivious  of  all  else,  defiant 
of  all  else.  Those  of  her  friends  who  have 
the  consciousness  of  a  higher  wisdom  than 
she  possesses,  those  of  them  who  can  recog- 
nize that  the  promptings  of  such  a  heart 
as  hers  may  possibly  lead  her  into  danger- 
ous paths,  must  guide  her  gently,  tenderly. 
If  any  betray  her,  he  will  have  to  answer 
for  it  at  the  Judgment-seat !  " 

"Judge  me,"  he  cries  aloud,  raising  his 
arms  to  heaven,  "  and  so  deal  with  me  I 
This  dear  angel  lies  in  her  grave  pure  as 
at  her  birth.  But  she  will  sjieak  for  me, 
dear,  honored  sister  !  " 

In  the  distance,  standing  in  the  shadow 
of  the  trees,  are  the  natives,  their  bodies 
streaked  with  white.  They  do  not  intrude 
upon  Joshua's  sorrow.  Slowly  he  piles  the 
earth  upon  the  faithful  heart,  and  kisses 
the  earth  with  passionate  grief.  When  he 
is  calmer,  he  reads  his  Bible  by  the  moon's 
light;  and,  as  he  reads,  peace  comes  to 
him. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

JOSHUA  AND  THE  OLD  WIZARD. 

FoK  two  weeks  the  natives  mourned  for 
Minnie.  Their  grief  was  sincere,  notwith- 
standing that  it  was  expressed  in  barbar- 
ous fashion  —  such  as  painting  their  bodies 
white  with  pipeclay,  and  inflicting  painful 
gashes  upon  their  breasts  and  arms  with 
shells  and  stones.  They  obsei'ved  Joshua 
gathering  wild  flowers  to  place  upon  her 
grave,  and  every  day  after  that,  the  women 
and  children  collected  the  prettiest  and 
rarest  flowers  they  could  find,  and  deco- 
rated Minnie's  grave  with  them.  During 
this  time  a  terrible  feeling  of  desolation 
came  upon  Joshua.  If  Opara  failed  to 
keep  the  promise  he  had  given  Minnie, 
what  would  become  of  him?  He  thought 
of  some  words  Dan  had  spoken  to  him  in 
one  of  their  boyish  conversations,  when 
they  were  talking  of  Robinson  Crusoe. 
Dan  had  said  he  thought  it  strange  that 
Robinson  did  not  forget  how  to  speak  his 
native  language,  and  had  wondered  that 
he  didn't  go  mad.  This  remembrance  was 
terrible  to  Joshua.  At  night,  when  he  was 
alone  in  his  hut,  he  would  speak  to  himself, 
and  would  tremble  at  his  voice  ;  and  stop- 
ping  sometimes  with    half-uttered   words 


212 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


upon  his  tongue,  would  be  seized  with  sud- 
den terror  as  at  an  unfamiliar  sound.  But 
at  the  end  of  a  fortnight,  Opara  came  to 
Joshua,  and  said,  "  Our  days  of  mourning 
are  over ;  but  the  image  of  our  daughter 
■will  dwell  forever  in  our  hearts.  To-night 
we  hold  a  council.  Shall  we  tarry  yet 
a  while,  or  shall  we  prepare  to  depart  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  message  for  my  brothers  and 
hers,"  replied  Joshua.  "  They  live  south- 
ward. Is  that  the  direction  Opara  will 
take  V  " 

"  Opara  will  do  as  he  has  promised," 
said  the  old  chief  with  dignity,  "  and  will 
accompany  you  to  the  south." 

"  My  sister  will  be  glad  if  her  message 
is  delivered  soon  ; "  and  Joshua's  heart  beat 
quickly  at  the  pi'ospect  of  deliverance. 

Opara  gravely  bent  his  head  ;  and  that 
night  it  was  decided  that  twenty  young 
men  and  doctors  of  the  tribe,  including 
Opara,  should  start  in  a  couple  of  days, 
with  Joshua,  for  the  south.  When  Joshua 
was  informed  of  this,  he  went  to  Minnie's 
grave,  and  shed  tears  of  joy,  and  gathered 
a  little  of  the  earth,  and  placed  it  in  the 
bag  round  his  neck  which  contained  his 
most  precious  possessions.  On  the  ap- 
pointed morning  they  started  early,  accom- 
panied by  the  entire  tribe ;  but  by  noon 
all  the  stragglers  had  departed.  In  a  few 
days  their  road  lay  through  very  rough 
country,  where,  although  fruits  and  birds 
were  plentiful  (it  being  summer),  Opara 
said  they  would  not  be  able  to  live  in  the 
winter.  Their  great  difficulty  was  to  ob- 
tain water,  for  the  creeks  and  water-courses 
were  drying  up;  and  Joshua  was  filled 
with  admiration  at  the  resources  of  the  na- 
tives, who  found  water  in  places  —  digging 
it  out  of  trees,  indeed,  very  often  —  where 
a  stranger  would  never  have  dreamed  of 
searching  for  it.  When  Joshua  saw  them 
strike  their  stone  weapons  into  a  tree 
whence  cold  bright  water  flowed,  he  could 
not  help  thinking  of  Moses  striking  the 
rock.  A  favorite  food  with  them  was  a 
species  of  shrubby  plant  which  they  called 
Kai'kalla,  and  which  yielded  a  rich  luscious 
fruit ;  and  they  ate,  with  intense  relish, 
many  species  of  grubs  which  they  cut  out 
of  the  bark  of  trees. 

Among  the  party  was  one  famous  wiz- 
ard and  doctor,  who  was  not  disposed  to 
look  upon  Joshua  with  the  same  tinendly 
eye  as  the  others  did.  When  INlinnie  was 
ill,  he  had  been  especially  desirous  of  ex- 
ercising his  arts  upon  her,  and  of  restoring 
her  to  health,  by  which  means  his  reputa- 
tion with  the  tribe  would  have  been  enor- 
mously Increased ;  and  when  IVIinnie  died, 
he  entertained  the  belief  that  he  could 
have  saved  her  if  he  had  been  allowed. 
This  doctor's  name  was  NuUaboin,  and  he 


had  joined  Joshua's  escort  because  he 
thought  that  he  might,  by  watching  Joshua's 
movements,  obtain  some  kind  of  knowledge 
that  might  be  useful  to  him. 

During   the  latter  days   of  Minnie's  ill- 
ness Joshua  had  not  played  his  accordion, 
which,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  the  natives 
had  never  seen.     Joshua  had  kept  it  jeal- 
ously concealed  in  its  covering  of  fur,  and 
had  never  played  it  in  sight  of  the  natives. 
It  was  at  the  end  of  the  second  week  of 
their  journey,  when   Joshua  was   looking 
out  anxiously  for  traces  of  white   settlers, 
that  a  circumstance  occurred  which  boded 
him  great  danger.     He  had  wandered,  as 
he   had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  every 
night,   a   long  distance  irom  where  the  na- 
tives  pitched  their  camp.     From  time    to 
time  Opara  and  his  party  had  met  natives 
of  difftjrent   tribes,   with   whom  they   had 
conversed  (though  sometimes  with  difficulty, 
for  their  dialects  dilfered)  concerning  the 
white  men  ;  and  on  this  morning  a  strange 
native  had  given  them  such  information  as 
led  Opara  to  tell  Joshua  that  he  believed 
he  would  soon  be  able  to  dehver  Mnnie's 
message  to  her   brothers.     Interpi-eting  by 
this   that   the  stranger  they  had  met   had 
seen   something  of  Englishmen,  Joshua,  in 
the  night,  wandered  farther  from  the  camp 
than  usual,  in  the  vague  hope  that  he  might 
come  upon  traces  of  his   countrymen.     He 
saw  none,   and  yet  thou||ht  they  might   be 
near.     An  idea  struck  him.    "  Why  should 
I   not  play   my   accordion  ? "  he   thought. 
"I  might  be  within  a  short  distance  of  my 
deliverers,  and  not  know  it.     The  sound  of 
civilized  music  might  reach  their  ears,  and 
they  would   come  to  me."     He  acted  upon 
the  thought  without  delay.     For  the  first 
time  tor  many  weeks,  he  took  his  accordion 
from  its  covering  (it  was  slung  round  his 
shoulders   by  a  strap  of  dried  skin),   and 
walked  through  the  woods,  playing,    and 
swinging  the  instrument  in  the  air,  so  that 
the   sound    should   travel   lar.      He   little 
dreamed  of  the  effect  he  produced.     NuUa- 
boin was  tracking  him  —  had  tracked  him 
every  night   in   his  wanderings.      Hitherto 
NuUaboin   had   learned  nothing  ;  but  now 
directly  the   music  struck  upon  his  ears,  he 
was  so  amazed  as  almost  to  betray  himself. 
The  idea  that  flashed  tlu-ough  that  cunning 
savage  mind  was  as  singular  as  it  was  origi- 
nal.    It   was   neither   more   nor   less  than 
that  Joshua  held  Minnie's  spirit  imprisoned 
in   the  strange   instrument  from  which  the 
melodious  sounds   proceeded.     They  were 
the  same  as  used  to  proceed  from  Minnie's 
hut,  when   it  was  imagined  she  was  speak- 
ing with 'invisible  shapes.     What  wonders 
might  he  not  perform,  could  he  obtain  pos- 
ses'sion   of  that  power  I       The  mysterious 
spkits  of  air  and  heaven  would  speak  to 


JOSHUA  AND  THE   OLD   WIZARD. 


213 


him,  and  would  tell  him  strange  things. 
But  how  could  he  obtain  it  —  how  ?  Joshua 
was  strong  —  too  strong  I'or  him.  lie  was 
an  old  man  —  ay,  he  was  an  old  man,  and 
these  spirits,  if  he  could  speak  to  them  in 
their  language,  might  teach  him  how  to  be- 
come young  again.  The  courses  of  his 
blood  quickeneil  through  the  old  wizard's 
veins  at  the  wild  hope,  and  he  picked  up  a 
stone  and  cut  at  his  breast  in  his  excite- 
ment. He  could  not  hope  to  wrest  the 
magic  power  from  Joshua  singly.  He  must 
enlist  his  companions  on  his  side.  His  in- 
fluence was  great,  but  Opara's  was  greater. 
He  dreaded  that  aged  chief  "If  Opara 
knows,"  was  his  cunning  thought,  "  Opara 
will  claim  it  for  himself  No,  no;  it  is 
mine,  Nullaboin's.  Here  me,  Pulyalanna  ! 
Strike  Opara  with  your  thunder  to-night ! 
Strike  him  dead !  He  has  lived  long 
enough."  But  as  he  thought,  he  started 
away  in  terror.  Among  the  trees,  some 
twenty  yards  away,  he  saw  a  crouching  fig- 
ure, which  he  took  to  be  one  of  the  fabu- 
lous Purkabidnies,  that  roam  through  the 
woods  at  night  to  slay  black  men.  It  was 
but  the  charred  stump  of  a  tree,  but  it  was 
sufficient  to  cause  Nullaboin,  the  wizard,  to 
fly  from  the  spot  in  direst  terror,  towards 
the  camp.  He  lay  awake  until  Joshua  re- 
turned, and  noted  with  his  lynx  eyes  that 
Joshua  wore  the  magic  instrument  strapped 
round  his  shoulders.  The  following  day 
he  took  occasion  to  speak  to  Joshua  in  a 
subtle  manner,  as  thus  :  "  Nullaboin  dreamt 
last  night  of  his  daughter  the  Star." 

Joshua  nodded. 

"  She  spoke  to  me.  Her  voice  was  like 
the  voice  of  the  birds.  I  shall  see  her 
soon." 

Joshua  gave  him  a  startled  look. 

"  Has  her  brother  seen  her  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Has  she  not  spoken  to  him  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Nullaboin  is  a  great  mintapa,  and  his 
daughter  knows  his  power." 

All  this  was  Greek  to  Joshua,  and  he 
did  not  encourage  the  old  wizard  to  con- 
tinue his  revelations.  But  during  that 
day  and  the  next,  Nullaboin  was  busy 
working  upon  the  credulous  minds  of  the 
younger  natives,  and  found  but  little  diffi- 
culty in  inflaming  their  curiosity.  Joshua's 
eagerness  had  become  almost  painful  by 
this  time ;  and  when  they  were  travelling 
over  plains,  every  speck  on  the  horizon  be- 
came a  horseman  in  his  anxious  eyes.  Oc- 
casionally they  had  to  make  their  way 
through  dense  scrub,  where  there  were  but 
few  trees ;  but  for  the  most  part  their  road 
lay  through  the  woods,  where  tall  timber 
was  abundant.  Under  any  other  circum- 
stances, Joshua  would  have  found  the  life 


he  was  leading  wonderfully  interesting,  fa- 
tiguing as  it  was.  Now  they  were  wend- 
ing their  way  through  a  gully,  the  heights 
on  each  side  of  which  were  so  thickly 
wooded  as  almost  to  shut  out  the  light  of 
heaven ;  now  they  were  on  a  plain  some- 
what thinly  dotted  with  trees,  when  sud- 
denly a  young  savage  would  dart  off  in 
pursuit  of  a  bee  which  his  wonderful  sight 
had  detected  fifty  feet  high  in  the  air. 
Away  buzzed  the  bee  through  the  clear  air, 
and,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  tiny  in- 
sect, after  it  flew  the  savage  joined  by 
other  young  men  of  the  party,  the  older 
men  follcfwina;  more  leisurely.  With  uner- 
ring sight  the  hunters  ran  until  the  bee 
settled  upon  a  tree;  and  with  wondrous 
speed  the  bee-hunter,  seeing  the  sugai*-bags 
in  the  topmost  branches,  climbed  the  trunk, 
cutting  notches  in  the  bark  for  his  toes 
with  his  stone  hatchet,  until  he  reached  the 
sweet  store,  with  which  he  loaded  himself, 
and  then  rejoined  his  companions.  Now 
they  caught  an  enormous  guana,  more  than 
five  feet  in  length,  upon  which  the  natives 
feasted ;  and  saw  strange  specimens  of  the 
mantis,  which  looked  like  rotten  pieces  of 
dead  twigs  until  they  were  touched,  when 
they  crawled  away  by  the  aid  of  their 
abundant  misshapen  limbs.  Now  they 
came  to  a  place  where,  surrounded  by  al- 
most impenetrable  scrub,  in  which  patches 
of  wild  bananas  grew,  were  a  number  of 
fresh-water  lagoons,  filled  with  reeds  and 
weeds  of  every  description,  and  abounding 
in  screeching  cockatoos  and  beautifully-col- 
ored ducks.  "While  Nullaboin  was  busy 
with  his  scheme  for  obtaining  the  magic 
box  in  which  he  imagined  Minnie's  spirit 
was  imprisoned,  some  members  of  a  strange 
tribe  came  to  the  party,  one  of  whom,  to 
Joshua's  amazement,  was  singing  in  imper- 
fect English  a  verse  of  the  ballad,  "  He 
promised  to  buy  me  a  bunch  of  blue  rib- 
bons." *  The  singer  knew  no  other  words  of 
English  :  but  he  contrived  to  make  Joshua 
understand  that  he  had  been  among  white 
men,  which,  indeed,  was  sufficiently  evident 
from  his  singing. 

"  Opara,"  said  Joshua,  with  sparkling 
eyes,  "  my  brothers  are  near." 

"  It  is  well,"  was  Opara's  simple  reply. 
"  Opara  will  have  performed  his  promise. 
"When  his  daughter  returns  to  her  tribe, 
she  Avill  thank  Opara." 

But  by  this  time  Nullaboin's  plans  were 
matured;  and  that  night,  when  Joshua 
wandered  into  the  woods,  his  heart  filled 
with  "-rateful  feelings  towards  the  faithful 
savages,  he  was  followed  stealthily  by  Nul- 
laboin, and  a  half-a-dozen  braves  who  had 
joined  in  his  plot. 

*  A  fact. 


214 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


"  At  last !  "  tliought  Joshua,  visions  of 
happiness  to  come  floating  before  his  eyes 
— "  at  last !  Perhaps  to-morrow  I  shall 
see  the  faces  of  my  countrymen,  and  then, 
and  then "  —  But  he  could  not  "think 
clearly ;  lor  as  the  images  of  those  dearest 
to  him  came  before  him,  the  false  face  of 
Solomon  Fewster  seemed  to  cast  a  shadow 
upon  his  happiness.  He  leaned  against  a 
silver-leaved  gum-tree,  and  tried  to  calm 
liimselt;  and  iu  a  little  while  succeeded. 
Ellen  was  true  to  him,  he  was  sm'e.  And 
Dan  ?  "  Is  he  training  his  birds  still  ?  "  he 
thought.  "  How  has  he  borne  his  gi-eat 
grief?  "  He  saw  before  him  the  dear  old 
kitchen  in  Stepney,  exactly  as  he  had  seen 
it  last;  every  chair  and  every  piece  of 
crockery  was  iu  its  exact  place.  Every  de- 
tail of  those  last  few  minutes  at  home  pre- 
sented itself  clearly  to  him  :  his  yearning 
look  at  the  old  familiar  room ;  his  wallving 
up  the  stairs  to  the  street-door  with  his  face 
hidden  iu  his  mother's  neck,  and  she  caress- 
ing him,  as  she  had  done  when  he  was  a 
little  cliild.  Almost  unconsciously  he  had 
taken  out  his  accordion,  and  his  fingers 
wei'C  wandering  over  the  keys,  playing 
softly  those  au'S  most  in  consonance  with 
his  thoughts.  He  even  murmured  the 
words  of  "  Tom  Bowling :  " 

"Here,  a  sheer  hulk,  lies  poor  Tom  Bowling, 
The  darling  of  our  crew.'' 

"  Dear  Old  Sailor !  How  glad  I  shall  be 
to  see  his  honest  face ! "  And  he  saw  the 
Old  Sailor  take  a  wedding-ring  out  of  a 
piece  of  silver-paper,  with  a  triumphant 
expression  upon  his  face,  as  he  had  done  iu 
that  memorable  interview  in  Gravesend, 
when  —  wliiz !  Good  God !  what  was  this  ? 
The  sky  seemed  to  come  down  upon  the 
earth,  and  he  sank  thi-ough  it  —  down ! 
down !  — 

Nullaboin,  snatching  the  accordion  from 
the  falling  man,  hugged  it  to  his  naked 
breast,  and  glided  swiftly  away,  followed 
by  his  confederates.  Tliey  must  have  tra- 
versed full  four  miles  before  they  paused, 
and  then  they  looked  cautiously  around,  to 
assure  themselves  that  they  were  alone. 
The  old  wizard  had  kept  the  instrument 
tightly  pressed  to  liis  bosom  during  the 
flight,  so  that  no  sound  had  proceeded  from 
it;  but  now,  when  they  paused,  his  grasp 
relaxed.  His  hand  was  on  the  keys  :  and 
and  as  the  accordion  gradually  distended 
itself,  a  slow  wail  issued  from  it,  which  so 
terrified  him  that  he  let  it  fall  to  the  ground, 
so  that  the  weak  and  plaintive  sound  was 
followed  by  a  harsh  and  sudden  jangle  of 
all  the  notes.  A])palled  at  this  angry  cry, 
which  was  to  them  full  of  fearful  meaning, 
the    younger    savages,    with    palpitating 


'  hearts  and  dismayed  faces,  flew  from  the 
spot,  and  left  Nullaboin  alone  with  the  ter- 
rible prize.  He  stood  like  a  statue  for 
many  minutes,  although  the  thick  beads  of 
perspiration  were  roiling  down  his  face  and 
beard,  and  then  cautiously  approached  the 
prostrate  mystery.  Encouraged  by  its  si- 
lence, he  stooped  over  it,  and,  after  his  sav- 
age fashion,  entreated  it  to  speak  to  him. 
No  answer  came.  A^'llat  should  he  do? 
A  sudden  light  came  into  his  eyes.  Min- 
nie's spirit  was  imj^risoned  there,  and  she 
was  angry.  He  would  release  her.  He 
li  ted  the  accordion  gently  from  the  ground, 
and  timidly  pressed  his  finger  upon  one  of 
the  higher  keys.  The  response  was  gen- 
tle, almost  piteous ;  it  was  an  appeal  to 
him. 

"  O  Star  of  the  tribe  !  "  he  whispered, 
"  Nullaboin  will  set  you  free.  Make  him 
great  !  " 

He  took  a  small  green-stone  mogo 
(hatchet)  from  his  girdle,  and  carefully  cut 
a  long  hole  in  the  cloth.  He  held  his  hand 
over  it  to  grasp  the  spii'it;  but  he  saw 
nothing,  heard  nothing.  He  waited  ;  noth- 
ing came.  He  took  it  in  his  hand,  and 
waved  it  up  and  down ;  no  sound  issued 
from  it.  The  spirit  had  fled,  and  the  old 
wizard  was  left  despau'ing. 

Joshua  felt  no  pain.  A  delicious  sense 
of  rest  was  upon  him.  Of  all  the  memo- 
ries that  came  to  him  in  his  di-eams,  the 
happy  holiday  he  had  spent  with  Dan  and 
Ellen  on  the  Old  Sailor's  barge  was  the 
most  vivid.  He  lived  once  more  through 
the  whole  of  that  happy  day  —  stood  in 
Dan's  room  in  his  holiday  clothes,  with 
food  for  the  birds  which  were  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  Old  Sailor  —  went  down  to 
breakfast,  and  saw  Ellen's  yearning  look 
as  they  talked  of  the  coming  pleasiu*es  of 
the  day  —  saw  her  run  out  of  the  room 
and  run  in  again,  almost  mad  with  delight 
because  Susan  had  obtained  p^mission  for 
her  to  accompany  the  lads  —  rode  in  the 
creaking  cart  through  dingy  "Wliitechapel 
—  saw  Dan  swinging  in  the  hammock  and 
gazing  at  him  affectionately  while  he  was 
rowing  —  heard  every  word  of  the  Old 
Sailor's  sea-stories  over  again  —  sat  on  the 
deck  in  the  twilight  in  a  state  of  delicious 
happiness  by  Ellen's  side,  and  went  down 
into  the  saloon,  and  heard  the  Old  Sailor 
sing,  and  then  Ellen,  her  favorite  song  of 
"  Bread-and-cheese  and  Kisses."  After 
that  a  darkness  came  upon  him,  and  he 
opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  the  stars  shining 
in  the  heavens ;  but  they  were  shut  out 
immediately  afterwards,  and  he  was  stand- 
ing on  the  deck  of  the  "  Merry  Andrew  "  the 
night  the  ship  struck  on  the  rocks  ;  holding 
Minnie  in  his  arms ;  the  dead  faces  of  his 


FAITHFUL   HEARTS. 


215 


shipmates  crowded  upon  him,  rising  from 
the  cruel  sea  with  tlie  exiR-t  expression 
upon  tlieir  fcatm-es  that  they  wore  when  lie 
last  saw  them  ;  then  came  his  encounter 
with  the  Lascar  in  the  woods  ;  and  that 
memory  brought  to  him  the  lace  of"  Solo- 
mon Fewster,  which  lingered  long ;  but  it 
faded  in  its  turn,  and  gave  way  to  other 
fancies,  the  most  enduring  of  which  was 
the  river  near  which  Minnie  was  bm-ied, 
and  the  refi-ain  of  her  words,  "  So  restless 
there,  so  quiet  here !  "  dwelt  in  his  mind 
through  the  long  night. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  daylight.  He 
struggled  to  his  feet,  but  could  scarcely 
stand  for  weakness.  He  had  been  struck 
by  a  boomerang  on  the  temple,  and  had  lost 
a  great  deal  of  blood.  He  was  so  weak 
and  bewildered  that,  even  now  that  he  was 
awake  the  past  incidents  of  his  life  were 
strangely  mingled  in  his  mind.  It  was  not 
until  after  long  mental  pondering  and  sift- 
ing of  incidents  that  the  true  knowledge  of 
his  position  and  of  what  had  occm'red  to 
him  dawned  upon  his  senses.  He  looked 
round  for  his  accordion ;  it  was  gone. 
Then  he  thought,  "  Opara  has  betrayed  me 
at  the  last  moment.  They  have  stolen  my 
accordion,  and  they  have  left  me  here  for 
dead.  But  they  may  return  at  any  mo- 
ment to  strip  me  of  what  I  have  about 
me. "  Weak  and  faint  as  he  was,  he 
crawled  cautiously  towards  the  most  thick- 
ly-wooded part  of  the  forest,  and  there 
concealed  himself.  "  What  now  ?  "  he 
thought.  "  Must  I  wait  for  death  ?  "  For 
indeed  he  was  too  weak  to  walk.  His 
heart  almost  fiinted  within  him. 

"  Now,  when  I  was  so  near  to  deliverance," 
he  groaned  aloud,  shedding  bitter  tears, 
"  to  be  thus  dashed  back  to  misery  !  "  But 
even  as  he  uttered  the  words,  he  heard  the 
crack  of  a  stockman's  whip.  Crack  !  It 
rang  through  the  woods  and  through  his 
heart.  Not  the  mockery  of  a  whip-bird 
this  time  !  No,  no  ;  it  was  too  near  ;  and 
it  was  followed  by  the  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs  and  by  the  sound  of  English  voices. 
Thank  God  I  thank  God  1 


CHAPTER  XLH. 

FAITHFUL    HEARTS. 

On  a  pleasant  summer  evening  Dan  and 
Ellen  and  Geoi-ge  Marvel  were  sitting  in 
the  shade  of  the  veranda  which  surround- 
ed three  sides  of  their  house.  The  house 
was  built  of  wood,  and  was  all  on  one  tloor, 
and  there  was  a  garden  in  the  front  and  in 


the  rear.  George  Marvel  was  smoking  his 
pipe  as  usual,  and  having  by  this  time  got 
used  to  the  short  clays,  which  were  the 
only  ones  he  could  now  obtain,  had  just 
declared  that  he  enjoyed  a  short  pipe  as 
well  as  a  long  one;  "though  I  couldn't 
stomach  them  at  first,  Dan,  as  you  know." 
Dan  nodded  in  ac(juiescence ;  he  had  no  time 
to  reply  ;  for  at  that  moment  a  great  shout- 
ing was  heard,  and  the  mail-cart  wjis  seen 
driving  round  the  corner  towards  them. 
The  arrival  of  the  mail-cart  in  the  village  was 
an  event  of  the  utmost  importance,  and  was 
always  greeted  with  cheers  by  the  excited 
popidation.  There  was  a  mail-service  once 
a  fortnight,  and  sometimes  it  would  be  a  day 
or  two  behind,  which  was  most  serviceable 
to  the  inhabitants  of  the  village,  as  giving 
them  something  to  be  anxious  about  and  to 
talk  about.  The  driver  ( who  was  con- 
tractor for  the  mail,  owner  of  the  mail-cart, 
and  driver  of  it,  all  in  one  )  had  one  inva- 
riable excuse  when  he  was  late ;  he  had 
been  waiting  for  the  birds.  Now,  when 
Dan  first  heard  this,  he,  without  knowing 
its  meaning,  felt  instantly  attracted  to  the 
driver  of  the  mail,  whose  name  was  Ramsay ; 
and  when  he  had  an  explanation  from  the 
lips  of  a  neighbor  to  whom  Ramsay  had 
given  a  lifl  ( he  was  always  giving  kindly 
"lifts"  to  one  and  another),  Dan  was  dis- 
posed to  be  affectionately  familiar  with 
him.  This  feeling  being  reciprocated  by 
Ramsay,  an  intimacy  sprung  up  between 
them,  the  consequence  of  which  was,  that 
Ramsay,  after  delivering  his  mails  to  the 
postmaster  (  a  rheumatic  old  woman,  deaf, 
and  almost  blind),  came  as  regularly  as  a 
clock  to  have  a  smoke  and  a  chat  with  Dan 
and  the  Marvels.  A  curious  character  was 
Ramsay  ;  a  man  who  had  seen  better  days  — 
Who  had,  indeed,  once  been  very  wealthy 
—  who  had  been  plundered  and  deceived 
from  his  yuuth  upwards  —  and  who  yet  re- 
tained a  kindliness  to  every  living  thing 
with  which  he  cam.'  in  contact.  Thus,  his 
waiting  for  the  bii'ds :  it  was  whimsical, 
pretty  childish,  some  said ;  consisting  in  stop- 
ping wliichever  of  his  two  steady  old  mares 
he  was  driving,  immediately  he  saw  a  bird 
on  the  bush  track  before  him.  "  Get  out  of 
my  way,  little  bird,"  he  would  say  in  a  sin- 
gularly gentle  voice,  and  he  would  give  his 
whip  a  flick  at  the  back  of  his  cart,  which 
had  not  the  slightest  effect  in  disturbing 
the  little  creature  that  blocked  the  road. 
But  Ramsay  could  no  more  drive  past  it 
than  he  could  drive  through  a  wire  fence ; 
and  he  often  found  it  necessary  to  descend 
from  his  cart,  and  walk  softly  towards  the 
bird,  which,  having  probably  by  that  time 
finished  its  pecking,  would  jerk  up  its  cun- 
ning head  towards  the  intra,  ler,  and  leisure- 
ly take  flight  to  the  nearest  tree,  where  it 


216 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


would  watch  the  lazy  old  mare  trotting 
along,  and  would  receive  perhaps  a  comical 
"  Good-morning,  little  bird  !  "  from  the  gen- 
tle-hearted mail-contractor. 

"When  Ramsay  had  delivered  his  mail  to 
the  rheumatic  old  female  postmaster,  he 
would  look  over  the  letters  and  newspapers 
(five  minutes  was  long  enough  to  sort  the 
lot  of  them)  to  see  whether  there  was  any 
thing  for  Dan  and  Mr.  INIarvel.  On  this 
evening  there  was  a  newspaper ;  and  Ram- 
say, taking  possession  of  it,  walked  leisure- 
ly to  the  house  of  his  Mends.  Ellen's  child, 
Maggie,  saw  him,  and  ran  to  him  for  a  jump 
in  the  air,  and  he  stopped  to  indulge  her 
until  he  was  out  of  breath,  when  he  was 
glad  to  deliver  her  into  her  mother's  charge, 
shaking  his  head  laughingly  in  answer  to 
her  cries  for  "  more ! " 

"Hi,  Mrs.  Wattles!"  he  shouted  to  a 
woman  who  was  passing.  "  There's  a  letter 
for  you  at  the  post-office."  Which  sent 
]\Irs.  Wattles  off,  in  eager  haste,  to  receive 
her  missive. 

"  You're  a  day  late,"  said  Dan,  as  Ram- 
say opened  the  gate. 

"Waiting  for  the  birds,  Dan;  couldn't 
get  along  "for  the  creatures.  Here's  a 
newspaper  for  you." 

The  newspaper  had  an  English  postage- 
stamp  upon  it,  and  there  was  something 
marked  inside. 

"  It's  from  the  Old  Sailor ! "  cried  Dan, 
and  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  so  did  Ellen, 
and  all  those  simple  foolish  people,  in  turns, 
one  after  another.  The  paragraph  that 
was  marked  related  how  a  ship,  with  all 
hands,  was  reported  lost  ten  years  ago,  and 
there  was  nothing  more  heard  of  her  until 
a  week  before  the  newspaper  was  printed, 
when  into  the  London  Docks  came  a  vessel 
from  China,  which  had  been  driven  out  of 
her  course,  luckily,  and  had  in  consequence 
picked  up  six  men  off  an  island,  who  had 
been  living  there  for  many  years ;  and  how 
that  these  men  belonged  to  the  crew  who 
were  supposed  to  have  gone  to  the  bottom 
ten  years  before.  You  may  imagine  that 
they  read  this  paragraph  half  a  dozen  times 
at  the  least,  having  Joshua  in  their  minds  aL 
the  time,  and  that  Ellen  and  JMrs.  INIarvel 
disappeared  for  a  few  minutes  to  have  a  cry 
together.  While  they  were  away,  the  men 
sat  silent  and  grave,  Dan  reading  the  news- 
paper, and  George  Marvel  and  Ramsay 
smoking  their  pipes. 

Now,  once  in  every  month  —  that  is,  by 
every  other  mail  —  Ramsay  had  to  deliver 
a  mail-bag  at  a  cattle-station  known  as 
Bull's  Run.  The  station  was  between  forty 
and  fifty  miles  distant  from  the  village,  and 
Ramsay  took  two  days  for  the  journey,  out 
of  a  merciful  regard  for  his  old  mare.  As 
he  had  to  start  for  Bull's  Run  early  in  the 


morning,  he  did  not  stay  late  with  his 
friends,  but  bade  them  good-night  at  about 
nine  o'clock.  When  he  was  gone,  the  Old 
Sailor  became  the  subject  of  conversation, 
and  every  circumstance  of  their  intimacy 
was  recalled  and  dwelt  upon  with  loving 
afiection.  Every  night  they  sat  together 
—  Susan  as  well,  although  she  never  joined 
in  the  conversation  —  talking  of  one  thing 
and  another.  Time  had  softened  their 
grief,  but  it  had  not  made  them  less  con- 
stant; their  hearts  beat  as  fondly  and 
devotedly  for  Joshua  as  ever  they  had 
done. 

Susan  and  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Marvel  had 
gone  to  bed;  Ellen  and  Dan  were  alone. 
Between  these  two  an  undefinable  sympathy 
existed;  they  could  almost  read  each 
other's  thoughts;  and  this  night  Ellen 
lingered  when  the  others  had  retired  to 
rest,  because  she  had  read  in  Dan's  face 
the  signs  of  something  more  than  usually 
imjjortant  in  his  mind.  For  a  long  time 
they  were  silent ;  the  stillness  of  every  thing 
around  impressed  them  deeply.  The 
nature  of  their  thoughts,  and  the  stillness 
of  the  night,  in  which  there  was  something 
solemn,  brought  to  both  of  them  the 
memory  of  another  night,  years  ago,  when 
they  had  sat  alone,  as  they  were  sitting 
now,  with  Basil  Kindred's  unopened  diary 
before  them. 

"Ellen,"  said  Dan,  playing  with  her 
fingers  thoughtfully,  "  I  have  dreamed  of  Jo 
lately  more  often  than  usual,  and  to-night  my 
thoughts  dwell  upon  him  so  strongly  that  I 
shall  not  go  to  bed  for  a  while." 
"  I  will  sit  up  with  you,  my  dear." 
The  windows  in  the  room  were  folding 
windows,  and  reached  to  the  ground. 
Ellen  opened  them ;  and  she  and  Dan  were 
presently  sitting  beneath  the  veranda,  he 
upon  a  chair,  she  upon  the  ground,  with  her 
head  resting  in  his  lap. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  Christmas  night, 
Ellen,  when  Jo  came  home  ?  " 
"Yes,  Dan." 

"  And  the  strange  impression  I  had  upon 
me  that  Jo  was  near  us,  although  I  had  no 
actual  knowledge  of  it  ?  " 
"  Yes." 

"  I  can  see  the  street  as  we  saw  it  then, 
Ellen,  with  its  covering  of  snow,  and  that 
cruel  black  gash  in  it  which  the  only  man 
who  passed  tore  with  his  feet.  It  was  like 
an  ill-omen.  You  see  nothing  to  disturb 
the  beauty  of  the  scene,  Ellen  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  why  do  you  ask,  my  dear  ?  " 
"Because  I  have  upon  me  to-night  the 
same  feeling  that  I  had  then ;  because,  not^ 
withstanding  that  it  is  almost  madness 
to  say  it  and  believe  it,  I  believe  that  Jo  is 
near  us." 
"Danl" 


FAITHFUL   HEABTS. 


217 


"To  no  one  else  but  you  would  T  say 
this,  my  dear.  vLon;:;  dwellin'ji;  upon  one 
subject  fills  the  mind  witli  sin^nilar  thought 
concerning  it,  and  it  may  be  that  this  feel- 
ing that  is  upon  me  now  is  but  the  creation 
oflhe  wildest  fancy.  Yet  there  are  strange 
influences  within  us  and  around  us  for 
which  we  cannot  account,  and  which  affect 
us  in  mysterious  ways.  When  I  first  knew 
that  it 'was  Jo's  wish  to  be  a  sailor,  and 
that  we  should  be  parted,  I  tried  with  all 
my  mind  and  soul  —  it  may  be  that  it  was 
a  fooUsh,  childish  foncy,  Ellen,  but  I  had  it 
—  to  create  such  a  heart  sympathy  between 
us  that  we  could  never  be  parted  in  spirit. 
I  had  some  wild  ideas  then  of  being  able  to 
dream  of  what  he  was  doing  and  seeing 
when  he  was  thousands  of  miles  away  from 
our  little  room  in  Stepney.  Of  course  they 
came  to  nothing ;  but  it  would  be  strange, 
indeed,  if  this  earnest  striving  of  mine  had 
not  produced  some  feeling  within  me  which 
time  only  can  test.  You  remember  what 
poor  Minnie's  father  used  to  say :  '  There 
are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than 
is  dreamed  of  in  our  philosophy.' " 

So  they  sat  together  talking  and  musing, 
and  it  was  past  midnight  before  they  re- 
tired to  rest. 

Early  in  the  morning,  the  whimsical  mail- 
contractor  was  jogging  along  towards  Bull's 
Run ;  he  had  to  stop  so  many  times  for  the 
little  birds  in  the  road,  that  his  progress 
was  slow  ;  but  he  had  reckoned  upon  these 
impediments,  and  he  arrived  at  the  station 
not  more  than  a  couple  of  hours  after  the 
usual  time.  That  was  the  end  of  his  jour- 
ney ;  the  following  day  he  had  to  make  his 
way  back  to  Dan's  village.  The  residence 
of  the  owner  of  BuU's-Run  station  was 
built  of  slabs  split  from  the  bloodwood- 
tree ;  the  roof  was  of  shingle ;  and  the  in- 
terior of  the  house  was  lined  with  rich  dark- 
red  cedar,  which  gave  it  quite  a  cosey, 
comfortable  appearance.  The  workmen's 
huts  were  built  of  palm-tree  slabs,  and  the 
roofs  were  thatched  with  strong  sword- 
orass,  which  grew  in  great  profiision  on  the 
banks  of  a  river  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
homestead.  Ramsay  was  always  welcomed 
at  Bull's  Run ;  the  men  and  women  on  the 
station  —  for,  primitive  as  it  was,  there 
were  women  and  children  living  on  it  — 
used  to  cluster  round  him,  and  ask  him  for 
news  from  the  villages  tlii'ough  which  he 
passed,  and  the  smallest  items  were  received 
with  thankfulness,  and  eagerly  listened  to. 
On  this  occasion,  Ramsay  had  but  little 
news  to  tell,  and  his  budget  was  soon  ex- 
hausted. In  return,  they  told  him  theirs  : 
one  of  the  bulls  had  torn  a  man's  arm  open ; 
a  child  had  been  lost  for  a  whole  ni^ht,  and 
all  the  men  were  out  searching  for  it  miles 
away,  and  it  was  found  the  next  morning 


within  half  a  mile  of  the  hut ;  three  bush- 
rangers, splendidly  mounted,  pissed  the 
station  last  week  at  full  gallop;  one  of  the 
shepherds  had  come  in  with  a  cock-and-a- 
bull  story  of  gold  being  found  somewhere 
or  other ;  another  shepherd  liad  gone  mad ; 
Yellow-hammer  Jack  and  his  wife  had  had 
a  row  ;  and  —  but  Oh  !  this  was  the  best  bit 
of  the  lot !  —  a  man  had  been  brought  in 
by  two  stockmen  who  were  looking  for  lost 
cattle,  and  had  found  him  instead ;  he  was 
almost  dead,  and  had  been  living  a  long 
time  with  the  Blacks.  He  seemed  a  decent 
kind  of  fellow,  had  been  a  sailor,  he  said, 
but  was  strangely  silent  about  himself — 
for  good  reasons,  some  of  the  ill-natured 
ones  said.  Any  ways,  the  man  was  Vjetter, 
although  still  very  weak,  and  intended  to 
start  the  next  morning  for  Sydney ;  nothing 
would  stop  him. 

"  A  long  tramp  for  a  weak  man,"  said 
kind-hearted  Ramsay;  "if  he's  a  decent 
fellow,  I'll  give  him  a  lift." 

As  he  said  this,  there  came  towards  the 
group,  walking  very  slowly,  a  strange-look- 
ing man.  with  a  beard  down  to  his  breast, 
dressed  in  skins  and  fiirs ;  he  had  a  stick 
in  his  hand,  and  seemed  to  require  its 
support.  They  pointed  to  him,  and  said 
that  was  the  man.  Ramsay  looked  at  him 
keenly,  and  the  air  of  melancholy  that 
rested  in  the  man's  eyes  impressed  the 
mail-contractor  with  a  feeling  of  pity. 

"  A'sailor,  eh  ?  "  he  thought ;  "  and  living 
with  the  savages.  Wonder  what  he  lived 
with  them  for  ?  "  Then  he  thought  of  Dan's 
and  Ellen's  anxiety  concerning  strange 
sailors  and  castaways,  and  that  perhaps 
they  would  be  glad  to  see  this  man.  He 
said  nothing,  however,  but  was  up  the  next 
morning  early,  and  saw  the  man  start  on 
his  road  with  slow  and  painful  steps.  A 
few  minutes  afterwards  the  old  mare  was 
harnessed,  and  its  tail  was  turned  to  Bull's 
Run.  Soon  he  came  up  to  the  man,  and 
as  he  did  so,  two  purple-breasted  robins 
pecking  at  a  bit  of  honeysuckle  barred  his 
progress.  "  Get  out  of  my  way,  little 
bh'ds,"  said  the  mail-driver,  pulling  up  his 
mare ;  and  he  gave  a  soft  flick  with  his  whip 
in  a  direction  where  the  robins  were  not. 
The  words  reached  the  man's  ears,  and  he 
turned  his  head  in  surprise,  and  saw  the 
little  comedy.  A  gentle,  sweet  smile  rested 
on  his  lips,  and  he  looked  at  the  mail-driver 
almost  gratefully.  Ramsay  smiled  in  retm-n, 
and  again  bade  the  little  robins  get  out  of 
his  way;  and  presently  they  took  flight, 
each  with  a  tiny  piece  of  the  sweet  flower 
in  its  beak.  Then  the  old  mare  jogged 
lazily  along,  and  the  strange-looking  man 
gazed  wistfully  after  the  cart.  Ramsay, 
looking  back,  saw  the  wistful  expression, 
and  stopped  at  once.     "  Hi,  mate  1 " 


218 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


Joshua  came  slowly  forward. 

"  ^Vliere  you  bound  for  ?  " 

"  Sydney." 

"  Going  to  walk  all  the  way  ?  " 

"  If  I  can,"  sighed  Joshua ;  and  could  not 
help  adding,  "  and  if  I  don't  die  on  the 
road ! " 

"  Jump  up,  mate ;  I  can  give  you  a  lift 
for  forty  miles." 

"  I  have  no  money,"  and  Joshua  turned 
away,  with  a  sob. 

"  I  don't  want  your  money ;  I  want  your 
company.  But  how  were  you  going  to  live, 
if  you've  fto  money  ?  " 

"I  should  trust  to  the  Providence  that 
has  so  wonderfully  delivered  me,"  thought 
Joshua,  but  made  no  reply  aloud;  though 
it  could  be  seen  in  his  eyes,  which  were 
filled  Avith  tears. 

"Jump  in,"  said  Ramsay,  imperatively 
and  kindly,  "  without  another  word." 

And  without  another  word  Joshua  climb- 
ed into  the  cart. 

"  I  dare  say  now,"  said  Ramsay  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  as  the  old  mare  trot- 
ted steadily  on  the  road,  "  that  you  won- 
der what  made  me  so  anxious  for  your  com- 
pany. Well,  I'll  tell  you.  In  the  village 
where  I  shall  put  up  to-morrow  afternoon, 
and  which  is  forty  odd  miles  on  the  road 
to  Sydney,  live  some  people  I'm  very  fond 
of,  who  had  a  sailor  friend  that  they've  not 
heard  of  for  a  long  while." 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  Joshua ;  "  I  know-  Avhat 
their  feeling  must  be.     Did  they  love  him  ?  " 

"  Love  him !  Well,  you  shall  see  for  your- 
self; if,  in  return  for  the  lift  I  am  giving 
you,  you  won't  mind  talking  to  them  a  bit." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to ;  it  may  remind  me 
of  my  own  friends." 

"  Where  are  your  friends  ?  —  Now, 
Dozy ! "  this  to  the  old  mare,  who  had 
stopped  suddenly  short ;  "  what  d'ye  stop 
for  ?  The  sense  of  the  creature ! "  he 
added  proudly,  pointing  to  a  bird  some  yards 
in  front  of  them.  "  Get  out  of  my  way, 
little  bird ! " 

"  When  I  first  heard  you  say  that,"  said 
Joshua,  "  I  was  sure  you  had  a  kind  heart." 

''  Fond  of  birds  yourself,  mate  ?  " 

"  Very,  very  fund.  The  tenderest  re- 
membrances of  my  life  are  connected  with 
them." 

Ramsay  cast  a  sharp  glance  at  the  half- 
savage. 

"  Been  long  among  the  Blacks,  mate  ? 
or  isn't  the  story  true  ?  " 

"  It's  true  enough.  Long  among  them  ? 
Ay  —  years  ,  but  I  don't  know  how  long." 

Joshua,  indeed,  had  lost  count  of  time. 

"  From  choice  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I've  told  my  story  to  no  one 
yet.  It  would  scarcely  be  believed.  But 
tell  me  about  your  friends  and  the  sailor." 


"  There's  a  mother  there,  that  lost  a  son 
when  she  lost  her  sailor  "  — j  Joshua  pressed 
his  fingers  to  his  face,  and  sobbed  convul- 
sively at  the  thought  of  his  own  dear  moth- 
er, who  had  lost  a  son  when  she  lost  her 
sailor ;  and  the  mail-driver  felt  a  choking 
in  his  throat,  and  had  to  wait  a  few  mo- 
ments betbre  he  could  proceed.  "  And  a 
father  that  lost  a  son  at  the  same  time. 
And  a  wife  that  lost  a  husband.  And  a 
friend  that  lost  a  friend.  And  a  little  child 
that  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  lost  a  father, 
for  she  never  saw  her  father's  face." 

"  Merciful  God  !  " 

"  What's  the  matter,  mate  ?  " 

For  Joshua  was  trembling  —  like  a  child  ; 
and  great  sobs  came  from  his  chest  —  like 
a  man. 

"  You  remind  me  —  you  remind  me," 
sobbed  Joshua.  "  Don't  think  me  unmanly, 
don't  think  me  mad.  I  have  been  sorely, 
sorely  tried !  " 

Whereat  Ramsay  stopped  the  mare,  and 
got  out  of  the  cart,  and  went  into  the  bush 
to  look  for  birds.  He  must  have  had  a 
great  difficulty  in  finding  them,  he  was  away 
so  long  ;  and  the  old  mare  stood  perfectly 
still  and  contented  the  while,  twitching  her 
tail  to  knock  off  the  flies,  which  was  the 
only  spirited  action  she  was  ever  known  to 
be  guilty  of.  When  they  were  jogging 
along  again,  they  did  not  speak  a  word  for 
a  full  hour,  and  then  it  was  Joshua  who 
spoke  first,  taking  up  the  thread  where  it 
had  been  dropped. 

"  The  child  who  has  never  seen  her  fa- 
ther —  a  girl  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mate." 

"  How  was  it  that  she  had  never  seen 
him  ?  " 

'■Married  her  mother;  went  away  to 
sea,  and  never  heard  of  since." 

"  How  old  is  the  child  ?  " 

"  Five  years,  I  should  say." 

"  If  you  knew,"  said  Joshua  in  a  slow 
trembling  voice,  "  what  a  chord  you  have 
touched  in  my  heart,  you  would  pity  me. 
Forgive  me  tor  my  strange  manner,  and 
answer  me.  The  mother  who  has  lost  a 
son  ;  describe  her." 

"  An  angel.  I'm  not  good  at  picking 
faces  to  pieces ;  but  when  I  look  at  her, 
she  reminds  me  of  my  own  mother,  dead 
and  gone  this  many  a  year.  Never  thinks 
of  herself;  always  putting  herself  out  for 
other  people  —  bless  her  old  fiice  I  And 
yet  she's  not  so  old,  although  her  hair  is 
nearly  white  —  that's  from  grief." 

"  The  father  who  lost  a  son  ?  " 

"  A  fine  fellow  ;  a  little  self-willed  and 
obstinate  ;  a  wood-turner." 

A  long,  long  silence.  The  mail-driver 
did  not  break  it,  nor  did  he  intrude  upon 
his    companion's    thoughts.      "  Twit-twit- 


FAITHFUL  HEARTS. 


219 


twit!"  came  from  tlie  throats  of  some  dia- 
mond sparrows,  which  were  Hitting  among 
the  gma-tree  branches  and  a  flock  of  scarlet 
lowry  j)arrots  floated  through  the  bush  that 
lined  the  road  on  either  side,  their  won- 
derfully-gorgeous plumage  lighting  up  the 
dark  trees  with  brilliant  light. 

"  The  wife  that  lost  a  husband,  and  the 
friend  that  lost  a  friend  ?  " 

"  Treasures  both  ;  brother  and  sister." 

"One  other  question — where  do  they 
come  irom  V  " 

"  London.     I  don't  know  what  part." 

A  nii^t  floated  before  Joshua's  eyes,  and 
he  remained  like  one  in  a  dream  during  the 
afternoon  —  wondering,  hoping,  fearing. 
When  they  were  near  to  the  village  the 
following  afternoon,  Joshua  said,  — 

"It  may  be  that  you  have  rendered  me 
one  of  the  greatest  services  that  a  man  can 
possibly  render  another.  K  it  be  as  I 
scarcely  dare  to  hope,  we  shall  know  each 
other  tor  long  after  this.  Complete  the 
service  by  doing  one  little  thing  more. 
Drive  past  the  house  where  your  friends 
live  and  point  it  out  to  me,  so  that  I  may 
descend  and  walk  to  it  alone  when  we  are 
at  the  end  of  your  journey." 

Ramsay  nodded.  It  was  about  five 
o'clock  when  the  mail-cart  rattled  into  the 
village.  The  contractor  for  the  mails  al- 
ways made  a  great  clatter  when  he  came  in, 
as  if  he  had  been  driving  for  liis  life  —  a 
fiction  which,  although  no  one  believed  in, 
he  thought  it  desirable  to  keep  up.  "  It 
looks  government-like,"  he  said. 

Solomon  Fewster  is  in  the  garden  at  the 
rear  of  the  house,  pleading  his  suit  to  Ellen 
for  the  twentieth  time.  She  stands  silent 
until  he  has  finished  a  rhapsody,  in  Avhich 
love  and  money  are  strangely  commingled. 

"  Think  of  the  time  I  have  waited,  El- 
len," he  says;  "think  of  tlie  constancy  of 
my  affection,  and  of  the  position  I  can  offer 
you.  I  am  making  money  fast,  and  only 
wait  for  you  to  say  yes,  to  buy  a  house  for 
us,  whicli  in  three  years  will  be  worth  three 
times  what  they  ask  for  it.  What  is  the  use 
of  your  wasting  your  life  in  this  out-of-the- 
way  village  when  all  the  attractions  of  a 
city-life  are  open  to  you  ?  Come  now,  give 
me  your  hand,  and  reward  the  man  who 
has  been  your  constant  friend  and  lover, 
and  who  can  make  you  rich." 

But  Ellen  is  insensible  to  the  splendor 
of  the  offer ;  indeed,  she  is  weary  of  it  and 
him,  and  she  tells  him  so  spiritedly, 
and  yet  cannot  repulse  him.  At  length  she 
says,  — 

"  Mr.  Fewster,  there  must  be  an  end  to 
this.  I  shall  never,  never  marry  again  ;  and 
even  if  I  did,"  she  adds,  to  put  a  stop  to 
what  has  become  persecution,  "  I  should 


not  choose  you  ;  "  and  leaves  him  with  this 
arrow  in  his  heart. 

He  stands  amazed.  Not  choose  him  I 
Why,  a  thousand  girls  would  jump  at  him. 
Not  here  perhaps,  for  womankind  was  a 
scarce  commodity ;  but  at  home,  or  any- 
where where  girls  were  more  plentiful. 
Not  choose  liim  !  He  follows  her  into  the 
house,  wounded  and  mortified,  and  into 
Dan's  ro(jm,  where  Mr.  Marvel  and  Dan 
are  at  work.  Mr.  Marvel  has  all  his  tools, 
and  does  a  great  deal  of  wood-turning  — 
having,  indeed,  more  than  he  can  do  —  and 
is  putting  by  money.  He  scarcely  looks 
up  as  Solomon  Fewster  walks  in,  somewhat 
defiantly  ;  and  as  no  one  speaks  to  him,  an 
awkward  silence  ensues  upon  his  entrance ; 
broken  by  Mr.  Marvel,  who,  noticing  Ellen's 
flushed  face,  observes, — 

"  Been  teasing  Ellen  again,  lilr.  Few- 
ster y " 

"  Teasing  her,  indeed ! "  exclaims  Solo- 
mon Fewster  loftily;  "honoring  her,  I 
should  say." 

The  flush  upon  Ellen's  face  deepens  at 
this,  and  she  casts  such  a  look  of  aversion 
at  Mr.  Fewster  that  all  the  blood  rushes 
into  his  face,  and  he  says  some  injudicious 
words  about  ingratitude,  and  about  what 
one  might  expect  if  one  condescended  to 
lower  himself  as  he  had  done. 

Upon  this  George  Marv^el  starts  to  his 
feet  in  a  great  heat,  and  exclaims, — 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  ingratitude,  and 
by  lowering  yourself,  Mr.  Fewster  ?  AVhat 
gratitude  do  we  owe  you  ?  " 

"  Ask  Dan,"  says  Mr.  Fewster,  —  "  ask 
Dan  who  it  was  bought  his  birds  to  keep 
you  when  you  were  starving,  and  when  no 
one  else  would  look  upon  you.  But  it  serves 
me  right  for  noticing  you  and  helping  you, 
instead  of  treating  you  as  all  your  neighbors 
did.  I  ought  to  have  known  what  return  I 
might  expect." 

"  And  I  dare  say  you  got  your  return," 
says  George  Marvel,  "  when  you  sold  Dan's 
binls  at  a  good  profit.  As  for  Dan  selling 
his  birds  to  keep  us  from  starving,  tliat  was 
no  business  of  yours,  so  long  as  you  got 
value  for  your  money.  That  is  a  matter 
between  Dan  and  me ;  and  Dan's  satisfied 
with  the  way  that  account  stands,  or  I'm 
mistaken  in  him."  Dan  presses  George 
Marvel's  hand.  "  Thank  you,  Dan.  Now, 
as  to  lowering  yourself,  Mr.  Fewster.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  would  be  low- 
ering yourself  if  Ellen  here  was  free  to 
marry  you,  and  would  accept  you  ?  You 
mean-spirited  dog  !  I'm  a  good  deal  older 
than  you  are  ;  but  if  you  were  not  in  my 
house,  I  would  thrash  you  for  speaking  as 
you  have  done,  as  I've  thrashed  others  in 
Stepney  when  they  let  loose  their  lying 
tongues  at  us.     Get  out  of  the  place,  and 


220 


JOSHUA  MARVEL. 


never  set  foot  in  it  again  !  "  Attracted  by 
the  loud  voices,  Susan  and  Mrs.  Marvel, 
with  Ellen's  child,  have  come  into  the 
room ;  and  Mrs.  Marvel  now  goes  to  her 
husband's  side  and  lays  her  hand  upon  his 
arm.  "  Nay,  Maggie  —  let  be ;  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  hurt  him ;  I  wouldn't  lay  a  finger 
upon  him  here ;  and  I  don't  want  to  any- 
where else ;  only,  don't  let  him  cross  me  if 
he  says  a  word  against  us  out  of  this  house. 
—  Dan!"  he  cries,  "do  you  want  to  see 
Mr.  Fewster  here  again  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  I  think  it  will,  be  best  if  Mr. 
Fewster  will  keep  away  from  us." 

"  And  you,  Ellen  ?  what  do  you  say  ? 

"  I  never  wish  to  see  him  again.  For  the 
sake  of  what  is  past,  I  would  have  been 
content  to  see  him,  if  he  would  have  ceased 
from  persecuting  me  ;  but  after  what  he  has 
said  to  you,  I  hope  he  will  leave  us  in 
peace." 

"  You  hear,"  exclaims  George  Marvel ; 
"  we  are  happy  enough  without  you.  Go, 
and  never  darken  this  door  again  !  " 

Solomon  Fewster  looks  round,  almost 
savagely;  his  face  is  white  with  passion, 
and  all  the  vindictiveness  of  his  bad  nature 
comes  into  play. 

"  You  are  happy  enough  without  me  !  " 
he  sneers,  with  his  knuckles  to  his  mouth. 

"  Don't  make  too  sure  of  that.  I  have  been 
your  friend  hitherto.  What  if  I  now  make 
myself  your  enemy?  What  if,  when  I  go 
from  this  house,  I  spread  about  mij  version 
of  your  reason  for  leaving  London  ?  What 
if  I  tell  your  neighbors  here  of  the  real 
character  of  your  sailor-hero,  and  how,  be- 
cause of  his  villany,  all  your  friends  turned 
their  backs  upon  you  "  — 

But  he  has  no  time  to  say  more ;  for  the 
door,  which  has  been  partly  open,  swings 
on  its  hinges,  and  Joshua  enters. 

Not  one  of  them  recognizes  him.  In  his 
strange  garb,  with  his  fur-cap  pulled  over 
his  eyes,  and  with  his  face  covered  with 
hair,  no  trace  of  Joshua  is  discernible ;  and 
yet  they  look  at  him  spell-bound,  waiting 
for  him  to  speak.  He  gazes  at  the  forms 
of  all  the  dear  ones,  and  grasps  the  back  of 
a  chair  to  steady  himself.  He  takes  them 
all  in  at  a  glance,  and  sees  in  one  brief  mo- 
ment the  changes  in  them  that  time  has 
made.  His  mother's  white  hair  ;  the  deep- 
ened wrinkles  in  his  father's  face  ;  Ellen 
more  matronly  than  she  was,  but  fair  and 
pleasant  to  look  at  as  when  she  was  a  girl ; 
Susan,  like  an  old  woman ;  Dan  grown  a 
little  stouter,  and  with  the  same  dear  boy- 
ish light  in  his  eyes  and  on  his  face  —  but 
the  child,  clinging  to  Ellen's  apron  and 
looking  at  him  wonderingly  with  Ellen's 
eyes  and  his  !  — 

He  had  thought,  before  he  entered,  that 
he  would  be  strong,  but  he  has  no  more 


control  over  himself  for  a  few  moments 
than  a  straw  in  a  fierce  wind.  Then  mut- 
tering, "  Justice  first !  "  he  turns  upon  Sol- 
omon Fewster  a  glance  of  hate  and  scorn, 
and  grasps  him  by  the  shoulder  with  so 
powerful  a  grasp,  that  Fewster  writhes  with 
pain. 

"  I  heard  your  last  words,"  he  says. 

But  directly  he  speaks,  a  thrill  runs 
through  them,  and  they  are  running  to- 
wards him  with  outstretched  arms,  when 
he  cries, — 

"  Stand  off  I  By  what  strange  chance  I 
find  you,  I  can  scarcely  imagine.  But  do 
not  come  nearer  to  me  for  a  little  while,  or 
I  shall  fall  dead  at  your  feet !  " 

Awe-struck  and  trembling  they  obey 
him. 

"  I  would  not  touch  one  of  your  dear 
hands  till  you  have  heard  me  and  judged 
me,  though  death  were  the  penalty  for  de- 
priving myself  of  the  joy !  I  would  not  receive 
one  kiss  from  your  honored  lips  upon  my 
cheek  till  you  have  heard  me  and  judged 
me,  though  I  were  sure  that  my  tongue 
would  be  paralyzed  in  the  utterance  of  what 
I  have  to  say  I  Some  part  of  your  suffer- 
ings, some  part  of  yom*  pain,  I  know  from 
my  own  suffering  and  pain,  and  I  will  clear 
myself  before  your  eyes,  so  help  me  Thou ! 
or  go  forever  from  my  sight !  " 

Susan  is  running  to  him  with  cries  of 
"  Justice  I  justice  !  "  and  is  about  to  throw 
herse'f  upon  him,  when  George  Marvel's  arm 
restrains  and  keeps  her  back.  "  Be  still, 
madwoman  !  "  he  mutters  sternly,  and  stands 
by  her  side,  watchful  of  her,  and  no  less 
watchful  and  attentive  of  every  word  that 
falls  from  his  son's  lips. 

Joshua  takes  the  cap  from  his  head,  and 
lets  it  fall  to  the  ground,  still  keeping  his 
strong  grasp  upon  Solomon  Fewster,  whose 
cowardly  blood  grows  thin  as  he  writhes 
and  listens. 

"  Justice !  "  echoes  Joshua.  "  You  shall 
have  it,  and  so  shall  this  base  dog,  whose 
presence  pollutes  the  air  I  breathe.  Listen 
well.  Of  another  matter  that  we  must 
speak  of  presently,  and  which  is  near  and 
dear  to  all  our  hearts,  I  will  say  nothing 
before  him.  But  in  the  'Merry  Andrew  '  in 
which  I  sailed  from  Gravesend,  and  which 
is  now  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  with  many 
dear  brave  souls  that  were  aboard  her,  was 
a  villanous  sailor  —  a  Lascar,  from  whose 
hands  I  once  rescued  the  woman  who  calls 
for  justice,  and  who  struck  me  down  on 
that  dreatlful  Christmas-eve  when  I  first 
came  home  from  sea.  He  shrinks  and 
trembles  beneath  my  grasp,  this  false  friend, 
of  whose  bad  heart  I  warned  my  brother 
Dan  before  the  '  Merry  Andrew '  sailed.  At 
one  time  during  the  voyage,  when  we  were 
in  danger,  there  was  an  attempt  at  mutiny, 


FAITHFUL  HEARTS. 


221 


and  this  Lascar  was  one  of  the  cowardly 
wretches  who  endeavored  to  spread  dissatis- 
faction. When  we  were  in  dread  peril, 
this  Lascar  sailor  and  a  mutinous  mate, 
whom  we  had  to  put  in  irons,  strove  hard 
\)o  injure  me  and  the  captain  —  Heaven  rest 
his  soul !  —  and,  happily,  failed.  The  ship 
was  wrecked,  and  we  had  to  abandon  her, 
and  take  to  a  raft  which  we  had  made ; 
and  on  that  raft  we  sulfered  more  than  six 
weeks  hunger  and  thirst,  and  every  species 
of  misery.  Out  of  the  entire  crew  and 
passengers  only  seven  were  saved,  among 
them  being  myself  and  this  Lascar  sailor 
and  his  confederate,  the  mutinous  mate. 
Before  the  captain  died,  he  appointed  me 
to  succeed  in  the  command,  and  I  have  the 
record  from  the  log-book  about  me  now. 
We  got  ashore.  How  we  lived,  you  shall 
hear  from  me  by  and  by ;  but  once  the  Las- 
car (whom  we  suspected  of  having  killed 
his  confederate)  stole  upon  me,  and  but 
that  I  turned  my  head  in  time,  I  should  not 
be  here  now  to  expose  the  villany  of  this 
cowardly  wi'etch.  Foiled  in  his  devilish 
design,  he  told  me  then  that  he  had  been 
set  to  trap  me,  and  was  paid  for  it.  Some 
time  after  that,  I  found  the  Lascar  dead  in 
the  forest ;  and  before  I  buried  him  —  not 
wishing  to  leave  a  human  creature,  ho\v- 
ever  vile,  to  be  eaten  by  birds  and  beasts 
—  I  obtained  evidence  which  proved  to  me 
that  the  wretch  who  writhes  now  within 
my  grasp  was  the  master  who  paid  him  to 
ruin,  and  perhaps  to  murder  me." 

"  A  clever  lie,"  Solomon  Fewster  man- 
ages to  say,  though  he  is  shaking  from  ter- 
ror. 

"  A  lie !  I  have  the  proofs.  Be  thankful 
that  I  have  met  you  here,  among  those  who 
are  all  that  the  world  holds  dear  for  me. 
If  I  had  met  you  in  the  forest,  in  the  midst 
of  such  scenes  as  I  have  witnessed  lately, 
I  would  not  have  answered  for  your  life." 

Joshua  hurls  Solomon  Fewster  from  him 
with  such  force  that  he  falls,  almost  stunned, 
in  the  corner  of  the  room.  Then  Joshua 
takes  from  his  neck  the  bag  containing  his 
relics,  and  selects  from  them  the  silver 
watch  and  the  dociunent  which  Fewster 
had  given  the  Lascar,  and  after  reading 
aloud  the  document  and  the  inscription  on 
the  watch,  lays  them  upon  the  table. 

"  Here  are  the  proofs  of  yom-  crime  and 
your  villany,"  he  says  to  Fewster.  "Be 
thankful  if  you  are  allowed  to  escape  pun- 
ishment. Go,  and  go  quickly,  and  without 
a  word  1 "  He  stands  aside  to  let  the  man 
pass  ;  and  Solomon  Fewster,  without  a 
word  or  a  look  to  any  one  there,  passes 
out  of  the  room,  and  out  of  the  village. 
And  is  never  seen  in  it  again. 

"When  they  are  alone,  Joshua  turns  to 
Susan,  and,  in  a  softer  voice,  says,  — 


"  Susan,   you  cried  for  justice.      Upon 

mel  " 

"  Yes,   upon  you.      "Where  is  Minnie  ? 
^Vllat  have  you  done  with  Minnie  ?  " 

The  big  tears  roll  down  Joshua's  beard 
at  the  mention  of  her  name. 

"  You  think  I  took  her  away  ?  " 
"  You  know  you  diil." 
"  Then   truly,   if  all  of  you  believe   as 
Susan  believes,  my  life  is  darker  than  the 
darkest  night."     With  upraised  hand   he 
checks  them  from  speaking  ;  but  he  sees  in 
their  faces  what  gives  him  precious   com- 
fort.    "  When  I  went  away  from  Graves- 
end,"  he  says  in  a  soft  and  gentle  voice,  I 
had  no  knowledge  that  ]\Iinnie  was  aboard. 
When  we  got  to  Sydney  I  did  not  know  it. 
My   duties  occupied   all   my  time.       We 
sailed  from  Sydney,  and  I  was  still  in  ig- 
norance.    But   on   the   night   the  '  Merry 
Andrew '  struck  on  the  rocks  I  heard  her 
voice   for   the   first   time.     I  suppose   she 
thought   that   we   were   lost,   and   in    her 
agony   she   made  herself  known   to   me  ; 
but  I  did  not  see  her  —  the  night  was  too 
dark.     \^Tien  I  saw  her  the  next  day,  I 
saw  to  my  amazement  that  she  had  stained 
her  face,  and  that  her  hair  was  not  so  lon<T 
as  she  used  to  wear  it.  We  were  together  on 
the  raft.     We  were  together  on  the  shore. 
She  was  one  of  the  seven  who  were  saved. 
We  lived  together  lilie  brother  and  sister. 
"When  the  savages  discovered  us,  they  had 
a   strange   flxncy  respecting  her,  and   she 
obtained  great  influence  over  them.     She 
used  all  her  influence  to  protect  me,  and 
but  for  her  I  should  have  lived  and  died 
where  the   tribe   we   fell  amongst   chiefly 
wandered — in  the  north,  many  hundreds 
of  miles  from  here."     He  takes  from  his 
bag  Ellen's  portrait,  the  lock  of  her  hair 
he  had  cut  before  he  left  Gravesend,  and 
Dan's  Bible.     He  places  these  on  one  side. 
"  What  is  left,  Dan,  is  yom-s.     Tliis  tress, 
cut   not    many   weeks   ago ;     this   jiaper, 
which   she   desfred  me  to  give  you,  and 
which   I    have   never   read  ;    this    earth, 
which  I  gathered  from  her  gi-ave !     Before 
she  died,  she  sent  you  all  her  dearest  love, 
and  a   kiss   for  mother,    Dan,  and   Ellen. 
She   died    pure   as   she   had   lived,   dear, 
faithful,  mistaken   heart !     As  I  hope   for 
redemption,   I  speak   the   truth.      If   you 
believe  me,  take  me  to  your  hearts  again, 
and  let  me  live  in  them  as  I  know  I  once 
lived ! " 

As  he  once  lived !  as  he  had  always 
lived  !  They  cluster  round  him,  and  kiss 
him,  and  sob  over  him.  Had  he  not  been 
saved  from  the  deep — ay,  and  from  greater 
perils — to  comfort  them?  And  they  put 
his  little  daughter  in  his  arms,  who  asks, 
hearing  that  he  was  her  father,  "  Has  Grod 
sent  my  father  back  ?     God  is  very  good." 


222 


JOSHUA  MAEVEL. 


O  fjood  faifliful  motlier  I  can  this  great 
bearded  man  be  your  son  ?  Not  often  can 
such  a  cluster  of  loving  hearts  be  seen  — 
faithful  to  each  other,  believing  in  each 
other's  goodness  and  purity,  in  face  of 
terrible  adverse  circumstance.  Their  faith- 
fulness is  a  proof  of  their  own  worth.  To 
the  pure  all  things  are  pure.  But  hush ! 
for  Minnie's  last  words;  Dan  is  reading 
them  aloud. 

"  I  have  learned,  too  late,  the  conse- 
quences of  my  fault.  But  I,  and  I  alone, 
am  to  blame.  No  one  knew  it ;  no  one 
suspected  it ;  no  one  aided  me  in  it.  I  am 
writing  this  upon  a  page  of  Dan's  Bible, 
and  it  seems  to  me  like  an  oath.  I  cannot 
live  long.  I  am  dying.  But  a  long-life's 
devotion  could  not  repay  Joshua's  brotherly 
care.  All  good  angels  guard  him  and  you! 
If  Joshua  is  preserved  to  give  you  this  — 
and  I  believe  he  will  be  —  think,  while 
you  read  it,  that  my  spirit  is  near ;  and 
forgive  me,  dear  Dan  and  Ellen.  My  love 
to  you  both,  and  to  good  INIrs.  Marvel  and 
Joshua's  father ;  and  to  Susan,  who  must 
have  no  bad  thoughts  of  Joshua.  God 
bless  you,  and  send  you  happiness  I 

"Minnie." 

Dan  and  Joshua  sit  talking  together 
until  late  in  the  night.  Ellen  and  ]\Ir. 
and  Mrs.  Marvel  are  sitting  up  also,  but 
in  another  part  of  the  house.  They  know 
that  Dan  wants  to  speak  to  Joshua  of 
Minnie,  and  they  leave  the  friends  undis- 
turbed. 

Wliat  is  said  to  each  other  by  the  two 
faithful  friends  cannot  be  written  here ; 
but  it  may  be  easily  understood  by  those 
who  have  read  these  pages.  Joshua  tells 
Dan  as  much  as  time  will  allow  of  his 
and  IMinnie's  lives,  and  is  tender  and 
indignant  in  turns,  as  Dan  relates  to  him 
the  history  of  the  family  in  Stepney  after 
the  sailing  of  the  "  Merry  Andrew."     Be 


sure  that  the  Old  Sailor  is  not  forgotten. 
If  tender  speech  and  loving  thought  are 
worth  any  thing,  the  Old  Sailor  is  rich 
indeed. 

Their  eyes  are  wet  with  tears,  and  their 
hands  are  in  each  other's  clasp.  Joshua 
has  just  finished  his  relation  of  Minnie's 
death,  and  of  her  words  about  the  river  — 
"  So  restless  there,  so  quiet  here !  "  — when 
a  knock  comes  at  the  door,  and  Ellen 
enters.  He  takes  her  in  his  arms,  and 
they  sit,  the  three  of  them,  and  talk  in  a 
state  of  wondering  happiness. 

Another  knock  at  tlje  door  —  Mr.  and 
]\Irs.  Marvel.  The  magnetism  of  love  has 
drawn  them  all  together. 

"  It  reminds  me  of  the  night  before  you 
first  went  to  see,  Jo,"  says  Dan.  Do  you 
remember  ?  The  knocks  at  the  door  one 
after  another." 

"  Josh,"  said  George  Marvel  to  his  sou, 
a  fortnight  afterwards,  "  what  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  ^Vhat  do  you  mean,  daddy  ? "  asked 
Joshua  in  return. 

"What  do  I  mean?  Well,  you  don't 
want  to  go  to  sea  again  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  like  to  leave  Ellen  and 
Dan  and  all  of  you  again." 

"  Well,  then,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 
You  must  do  something." 

Mrs.  Marvel  sat  silent,  and  smiled  a 
little  smile,  but  very  slyly,  so  that  no  one 
should  see  it. 

"  You  can  get  plenty  of  work  as  a  wood- 
tm-ner,  daddy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Josh,  a  good  deal  more  than  I 
can  do  —  and  well  paid  for  it  too." 

"Well,  daddy,  I  think"  — 

"  Yes,  Josh,  you  think  " — 

"I  think  I'll  learn  wood-turning,  if 
you'll  teach  me." 

Whereupon  George  INIarvel,  after  the 
slightest  amount  of  hesitation,  rose  and 
kissed  his  wife. 


^trmtsiM 


■'>^-    OF    THK 


1 


University  oi   California. 


RfT. 


'/.A  TING   BJ^:A^(^.'y■ 


week  before  the  end  of  the  term. 


J 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRAEY, 
BERKELEY 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

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expiration  of  loan  period. 


mn  6  1923 


1961 


<. 


20m-l,'22 


^-Y^ 


1 


